The Return to Torech Ungol
by Anna Rousseau
Summary: COMPLETED Six years after the Fall of Sauron, Pippin + Merry travel to Gondor where they discover that Legolas + his brother Gloríen have disappeared near Torech Ungol. Aragorn + Faramir lead a quest to find them. Action/Tolkien-style/hurt-comfort-R/R sv
1. An Expected Party

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter One: 'An Expected Party'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Estate of JRR Tolkien. You *know* I don't own these guys, you *know* I'm not making a single euro out of this, you *know* I don't have the money for a law suit - so please don't sue, I'm still in school and I don't have a job.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor. If I have made a mistake vis-a-vis details, please tell me so that I can correct myself. Oh and if anyone can help me out with my Elvish, then that would be appreciated.  
  
  
'THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL'  
=============================  
  
Chapter One - An Expected Party  
--------------------------------  
  
  
It was approaching dusk as the two hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took reached the mithril and steel wrought Gate of Minas Tirith. The crimson light of the summer's sunset poured across the green lands of Gondor, and stained Mount Mindolluin, as if fields of red flowers were springing up from the ground. Emyn Arnen stood proudly next to the Anduin as it flowed like river made of molten mithril through the lands of Lebennin and South Ithilien, sparkling in the failing light.  
  
Above them, stars shined brighter than they had in the Shire, blessed as the City of Kings was by the grace of the Lady Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her race. For a moment they gazed at the great white walls of Minas Tirith as if they were seeing it for the first time. Six years seemed to them a long time, an age since they had first been in the city.  
  
The changing of the guards was taking place at that moment, and it wasn't long before they both heard the sound of trumpets and horns sounding from the battlements. Out of the gates of Minas Tirith, which were left open until the setting of the sun, came seven riders on horseback, all clad in the uniform of the Guard of the Citadel. Riding in front of them was a man, taller than the rest, his head held high and a star on his brow. He wore a cloak woven by the Lady of the Golden Wood of Lothlórien and on his shoulder was pinned a green gem which shone brightly in the twilight, the Elf-stone.  
  
It was then that Merry and Pippin beheld Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, the King Elessar of Gondor for the first time since they had returned to the Shire. He seemed not to have aged in the six years that had passed, for he appeared to be in the full bloom of his youth, his eyes wise and knowledgeable, full of valour and nobility. His face was the least troubled they had ever seen, for the worries of the Ranger of the North which had lined his noble face had disappeared, and the years had melted away from him leaving a man changed, yet the same.  
  
The Guards of the Citadel were holding the banners on which the standard of the Dúnadan was emblazoned a White Tree flowering against a field of black, with Seven Stars about it and above them the high crown of Elendil. Another peal was issued by the heralds on the battlements and they announced the arrival of Peregrin and Meriadoc, the Princes of the Halflings who had slain the Lord of the Nazgul and fought bravely with Gondor at the Black Gate.  
  
Ernil i Pheriannath, they cried. Cuio i Pheriain anann! Eglerio!  
  
Thus Merry and Pippin, hobbits of the Shire, were welcomed to the City of Men. In front of the Gate, looking over the fields of the Pelennor, Aragorn rode over to them on Hasufel, the horse bestowed upon him by the Lord of the Mark. The hobbits bowed their heads in reverence of the King, who in turn touched his brow then his lips then his breast respectfully, for these halflings were as brave as any hero told of in legends of old.  
  
"Has it been six years since we last bid each other farewell," asked Aragorn, a smile forming across his mouth as he drew alongside them.  
  
"The calendar would have us believe so, though I reckon it has been longer, my Lord," answered Pippin, blushing slightly as the Guard of the Citadel saluted him with their gleaming swords.  
  
Aragorn turned Hasufel in the direction of the City and started to ride forward with them. "Since I received word of your coming from Rohan, the summer days have seemed longer than any I have endured, so long have I waited to see folk of the Shire again. Tell me, how is Éomer King."  
  
Merry urged forward his steed and remembered a message he had been bidden to deliver. "He sends his greetings and has entrusted me with a message for you. I shall give you it as soon as we have et, as we have ridden far and fast to get here before the end of the day, and we are weary and hungry hobbits."  
  
Aragorn laughed, and to the hobbits he seemed more content than he had ever been before. "If you had told me otherwise, I should have been worried, for I have never forgotten that the appetites of the hobbits equal, if not surpass those of the strongest Man. In this knowledge, a great feast has been prepared in the Citadel, where you shall sit alongside the King Elessar and the Queen Undómiel as guests of Gondor."   
  
He looked sideways at Pippin, his mail gleaming in the starlight, bearing his Guard's shield proudly. "Though first, you have six years worth of watches to complete, Master Pippin."  
  
Suddenly Pippin's heart sunk: surely he was not to be treated in such a heartless way by a benevolent king, sent to do his duty as guard, weary as he was after riding from the Shire, and empty as his stomach was at the end of the day.  
  
However, he saw the friendly light in Aragorn's eyes as he looked onto the face of a dismayed hobbit, and Pippin laughed. "Do not jest in such a way with a hobbit who hasn't eaten since luncheon. It is unkind and cruel."  
  
Aragorn smiled at his friend. "Then I shall not, for I do not wish to be either cruel or unkind."  
  
They rode through the Gate and onto the paved street where many people of Gondor lined the streets to see and greet the Princes of the Halflings. As they rode in procession to the Citadel through the winding streets, cheers welcomed the hobbits and the boughs of trees which Legolas the Elf had brought to the city flowered above their heads, their blossoms dropping petals onto their hair and the cobbles, as if they were riding through snow a pale shade of pink. Suddenly, Hasufel quickened his step at the command of Aragorn and he said to his companions: "Do not tarry, my friends. There are those waiting in the Hall of Feasts whom you should be glad to greet."  
  
  
***  
  
  
"Why, if it isn't Master Merry and Master Pippin," cried a dwarf as the two hobbits took their place at the head of the banquet table.  
  
They were overjoyed to hear the sound of Gimli's voice, one they had become so accustomed to over the duration of their journey from Rivendell.  
  
"Gimil!" they chorused, running over to their friend and receiving a heavy clap on the back from the bearded dwarf.   
  
After they had talked about their journeys to Minas Tirith, and Gimli had explained how he had brought more dwarves to create marvellous works of masonry in the newly re-built City of Osgiliath, they sat down at the table and ate a feast such as they had never eaten before.  
  
The hobbits and the dwarf sat at either side of the King and Queen in the Hall of Feasts, and Pippin was reminded of the Lady Arwen's fairness and beauty which seemed to have increased triple fold since he had first laid eyes on her in the Last Homely House of Elrond in Rivendell.  
  
Tales were told of the Shire, and of the wedding of Samwise Gamgee to Rose Cotton and the birth of their daughter Elanor. Stories were heard of the Realm of Gondor and the lands of Ithilien and Lebennin. Songs were sung of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Devotion of Master Samwise, the Ring-bearers. Food was eaten, fine wine was drunk, and music was heard late into the night.  
  
When the blue summer's night sky was at its deepest, they left the table and wandered into the Court of the Fountain, where they sat on the green beside the flowing fountain, under the blossoms of the White Tree which had flourished, it's blooms even rivalling those of the mellorn tree in Hobbiton where once stood the Party Tree under which Bilbo Baggins had made his notorious speech.  
  
The Lady Arwen and Aragorn sat together at the edge of the fountain, their fingers entwined and their eyes shining as they reflected the bright stars in the heavens. Gimli told Merry and Pippin of the restoration of Moria by the Mountain Dwarves. They had been talking long when Merry interrupted with a question.  
  
"And what of Legolas the Elf, has he returned to Mirkwood as I presumed."  
  
"That he did," replied Gimli, smiling warmly. "And he brought a number of his fair-folk to the realm of Gondor where they now dwell, by the King's leave in the gardens of Ithilien."  
  
"I should very much like to see him again after all these years," commented Pippin.  
  
Aragorn smiled, "The call of the sea has not beckoned him yet, and as you wish we shall ride there ere four days hence after you have rested well in the chambers of the Citadel from your long journey."  
  
"There you shall also find the Prince of Ithilien, Lord Faramir and the Princess of the Rohirrim, his Lady Éowyn, where they dwell in the newly built tower of Minas Estel," Arwen said, smiling gently. "That land is now truly is the Garden of Gondor and it has been a year since I have seen it in its summer splendour. I shall ride with you and my husband and we shall see Gondor at its most beauteous."  
  
A few moments later they were bidden goodnight by the Lord and Lady, and were led to their chambers in the Tower of the City for a night of deep sleep filled with wondrous dreams.  
  
In the Court of the Fountain remained Aragorn and his Evenstar, their heads together in loving thought as they sat under the boughs of the White Tree, snow-white flowers in their hair as the gentle breeze swayed its branches, the King and Queen of Gondor.  
  
***  
TBC  
  
Chapter Two: The Ride to Minas Estel  
  
Okay, so this is super-short and it was a bit of a scene setting. It will liven up (I promise), but since this was my first LotR fic I thought this chapter would get me into Tolkien's style (warm up the lexical flow, per say). So, next time we can get into the *real* plot.  
  
Please, flame me gently, I don't want to end up burnt so I can't type.  
  
Feedback also to annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
----  
Language Notes:   
  
Ernil i Pheriannath. Cuio i Pheriain anann! Eglerio! translated as Hail the Prince of the Halflings. Praise the halflings, praise. Well, that's the general gist of it - I don't know much about the Elven tongue.  
Minas Estel should translate as the Tower of Hope, and I made that up.  
----  
  
*** 


	2. The Ride to Minas Estel

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Two: 'The Ride to Minas Estel'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter sees the reunion of Merry and Pippin with Legolas the Elf.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Estate of JRR Tolkien. You *know* I don't own these guys, you *know* I'm not making a single euro out of this, you *know* I don't have the money for a law suit - so please don't sue, I'm still in school and I don't have a job.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor. If I have made a mistake vis-a-vis details, please tell me so that I can correct myself. Oh and if anyone can help me out with my Elvish, then that would be appreciated.  
  
  
'THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL'  
============================  
  
Chapter Two - The Ride to Minas Estel  
-------------------------------------  
  
  
Four days after their arrival at Minas Tirith, Merry and Pippin accompanied Aragorn and Arwen with Gimli to the land of Ithilien. They set off two hours after the rising of the sun, the new-born light of the sun stretching her rays across the fields of Gondor and making the Anduin sparkle as brightly as the Elf-stone Aragorn bore on his shoulder.  
  
An escort of six knights of Gondor rode alongside them as they journeyed across the fields of the Pelennor, the hooves of their horses running through the long grasses of the realm, as if they were burning with an emerald fire. Gimli rode behind one of the knights, being as he was still very distrustful of horses.   
  
The Lady Arwen's deep blue mantle upon which stars of mithril were worked streamed out behind her, as did her dark hair, as she rode alongside Aragorn, his own elven cape of Lórien billowing in their wake. He wore not the mail of a king, but gear more of the style of a ranger, though his clothes were as finely made by the same elven hands who had woven Arwen's gown. They were full of splendour to behold, their eyes shining to behold as they rode across their kingdom. However, though no-one could see, save the King and Queen, her gleaming white horse bore two across the green expanses, as a child sat before her holding onto his mother.  
  
The day was long and the sun shone on them with dazzling brilliance. They conversed freely as they rode, asking of news and telling stories of the Shire and Moria, and remembering Frodo who had passed across the Sea to the Undying Lands with Gandalf in the place of Arwen.  
  
They missed the other members of the Fellowship dearly, for they had travelled far together and had faced many perils in the company of each other. Boromir was remembered for his bravery, Gandalf for his greatness, Sam for his devotion and Frodo for his strength.  
  
They stopped for rest in the green hills whenever they needed, and ate as much as they desired when they were hungry, a far cry from the days were they lived on mere wafers of lemblas not knowing if they would ever live to eat anything other than the elves' food.  
  
As dusk fell they reached the Osgiliath, lying on the Anduin a half-completed city of houses and towers and battlements, all hewn from the sturdiest rock by the hands of dwarves who has offered their skills as a vow of friendship to the realm of King Elessar.  
  
There they rested for the night, and the next day they crossed the great Anduin into the land to Ithilien, the garden of Gondor. Here they rose through the wooded vales of the land, blossoms floating in the clear air and all matter of flora blooming amongst the green hills. Northwards they rode, stopping two nights in the hospitality of the elves that lived in the forests of the land. These were the wood elves who had been brought from Eryn Lasgalen, as was called Mirkwood in the New Age, by Legolas the Elf. They had tended to the land well and Merry and Pippin marvelled at the beauty of the land of the Fair Folk which, though could not rival the land of Lórien, was the fairest of the lands of Gondor.  
  
As they rode on, Pippin could fancy that he caught a glimpse of a dark tower, Minas Morgul, as Sam had described to him in his tales of the journey of the Ring after the Fellowship had broken in the wooded slopes of Emyn Muil. However, he mentioned not his thoughts to Aragorn for he wished not the darken the mood of the day, which was bright and glorious and filled with the beauty of the Fair Folk.  
  
On the dusk of the fourth day they approached a wooded vale that lay a day South of Cair Andros and a league away from the Window on the West: Henneth Annun. There the hobbits' mouths gaped in wonder of the beauty which lay before them, for it seemed to them that they had returned to Lórien for it seemed that this land must be graced by the presence of the Lady Galadriel. The warm breeze carried the song of a nightingale to their ears, as if Luthíen herself walked as Tinúviel alongside the ripples of the streams.  
  
On the slopes of the glen grew great trees bearing leaves of the deepest green and the brightest autumnal red. In their branches Merry and Pippin saw houses built by elven hands, steps carved from silver wood ran about the trunks of the trees and disappeared into the leaves. Amongst the foliage lights of softer and brighter luminance than that of candles shone into the twilight, their beams twinkling as if beckoning the travellers to join the elves who dwelt there.   
  
Through the glen ran a river which flowed to the Anduin, gleaming with silver as it bubbled across rocks worn so smooth by the clear crystal waters that they seemed to the hobbits that polished glass lay on the river bed. By the river there lay houses which evoked in Merry and Pippin the memory of those in Rivendell, so was their fine construction and the fairly crafted ornamentation. Beyond that, sitting proud and glorious beside a waterfall of pearls and diamonds were the white walls of fair Minas Estel.  
  
Aragorn reared Hasufel to a halt. "There yonder lies Minas Estel, the Tower of Hope, newly built by the Men of Gondor."  
  
At that moment, Pippin could no longer restrain himself from asking his question, "If you don't mind me asking, I thought that I had seen Minas Morgul in passing on our ride from Osgiliath. Was it merely my eyes, or does it still stand?"  
  
Aragorn nodded gravely. "It was not your eyes, Master Pippin, for Minas Morgul sits in the hills of Ephel Duath, as it is still known. I had not heart to destroy that which had been Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, so fairly hewn by Men in the times of Gondor's glory. Though it still stands, no man may dwell there, for darkness resided within its walls and I fear that the very stones of it have been corrupted by the evil of Mordor. So Minas Morgul still stands, though it has now been reclaimed by nature, as a monument to the Gondor of old. It will remain so to remind us of that out of the Shadow we have emerged into the light."  
  
Pippin turned in his saddle to face the South, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tower they were speaking of. The sun was setting, and amongst the dark shapes of the Ephel Duath he could not make out the Tower of the Moon. He turned instead forwards and looked upon the fair towers of Minas Estel where banners and standards fluttered in the warm summer's breeze, and it seemed to Pippin to be the most glorious thing he had ever beheld.  
  
"And so Minas Estel was built, the Hope of Gondor, and around it lies the land of the Fair Folk," Arwen said, her eyes shining in the light of the setting sun as she gazed about her. "In the land of Ithilien dwell the Elven folk in their last settlement in Middle-earth. Here live people from Rivendell, my kinsmen who have yet not passed over the Sea and with them are the Tree Elves of what was Mirkwood, the brought hither by Legolas. Here they live in Arda Estel until they too decided to leave Middle-earth for the Havens and the tranquillity of the Undying lands."  
  
Merry and Pippin once again marvelled at the splendor of the Vale as they rested beside a small stream its clear spring waters running over perfectly smoothed pebbles and through the tall wild grasses. The hobbits were in awe of the land of Ithilien as it now was graced with the beauty of the Eldar.  
  
After a moment, Aragorn turned to the group. "Now we ride to Minas Estel where Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and the Lady of the Rohirrim Éowyn await our arrival, for they are expecting us in the Court of the Trees."  
  
***  
  
The arrival of King Elessar and his Lady Undómiel was not heralded by the minstrels of Minas Estel, for Aragorn had not wished it so and in its place the Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn greeted them warmly.  
There was much talk to be had of the Shire and happenings in Minas Tirith before the group were led into the Court of the Trees as over six years had passed since Merry and Pippin had seen the Lord and Lady.  
  
The Court of Trees was as its name said and it lay behind Minas Estel next to a waterfall, the Harma Silma, that spilled water which shone as mithril and diamonds in the twilight into the streams and rivers running through Arda Estel to the Anduin. Around them were a half circle of mallorn trees given as a gift of the people of Lórien to Gondor after the Fall of Sauron, and here it seemed that the leaves of the great elven trees were of a more subtle gold as they fell upon the emerald grasses between the trees and Harma Silma. There they sat in the Court of the Trees amongst the fallen leaves of the mallorn and about them grew the star-shaped blossoms of elanor, their petals swaying in the warm nights breeze.  
  
As the group sat under the golden boughs, the spray of Harma Silma fresh on their faces, they told of their travels and Merry delivered news to Éowyn of Éomer, her sister-brother and the King of the Mark. There they ate and drank wine made from the waters of the river which, to Merry and Pippin, seemed to have the fragrance and taste of that which Treebeard the Ent had given them in Fangorn. Soon the hobbits were singing drinking songs of the Shire which delighted the ears of Faramir and Éowyn, as well as amusing Gimli.  
  
As the night sky reached its deepest, Aragorn and Arwen stood apart from their friends, under the branches of the greatest mallorn of the Court as it grew next to Harma Silma. There they seemed to be cloaked in a brilliance of gold as mallorn leaves fell about them and the blossoms of elanor grew around their feet.   
  
Though it was unknown to even Faramir and Éowyn, the Court of Trees had been given another name by King Elessar and the Evenstar. For there they stood on Cerin Amroth as it was in Gondor, and there Aragorn and Arwen touched hands speaking in the high-Elven tongue of Quenya which few now spoke now in Middle-earth. As Pippin caught glimpse of them together, he saw also a child playing in the grass, and as Aragorn stooped to pick the child up and bear him in his arms, the hobbit saw that the face of the child had both the fairness of Arwen and the nobility of Aragorn for this was Eldarion, the son of Elessar and Undómiel, both of Eldar and Númenorean descent, and he was the heir of Gondor.   
  
As Pippin watched them, he saw a radiance upon the faces of Aragorn and Arwen more beauteous than that of the Lady Galadriel, such was their love for their son and their devotion to each other.  
  
Pippin turned his attention back to those who sat on the grass talking of Rohan and the Mark, and he asked of the whereabouts of Legolas the Elf who had journeyed with them in the Fellowship of the Ring.  
  
"He was due to return to Arda Estel this morrow, for he had gone into the hills with his kinsmen Gloríen four days hence for whatever reason I do not know," answered Faramir as he sat next to Lady Éowyn.  
  
"Should he not have returned by now?" Merry asked, feeling concern for his friend.  
  
The laugh of Éowyn rang as a bell through the still air, and she placed her hand upon Merry's shoulder, her touch light and cool. "Fear not, Master Holbytla, for Ithilien is a place of peace and it is more likely that Legolas is tarrying in a fair wood than any mischief have befallen him."  
  
Merry laughed, for since he had left the Shire those seven years ago, he had become more anxious in nature and now his worrying seemed to be without due cause. Pippin too was happy to hear that he would see the elf, for they had all grown to be good friends. With his mind at rest, Pippin turned in the direction of the waterfall, for he wished to ask another question of Aragorn, but he and Arwen had vanished with their child and all that stood beneath the great mallorn tree were the flowers of the elanor.  
  
***  
  
That night they slept in chambers that looked upon the Court of the Trees, the breeze tossed the branches of the golden mallorn trees to and fro outside their window as Pippin and Merry bathed in two large tubs filled to the brim with hot water in which sweet herbs were steeped.  
  
They were about to go to their beds and close their eyes in peaceful slumber when there was a gentle knock at the elven carved door of their rooms. Pippin leapt out of his bed and went opened the door. There stood Aragorn, his cloak around his shoulders as he waited in the corridor.  
  
"Strider," Merry nudged Pippin to correct the mistake. "I mean, my Lord. What is the matter?"  
  
Aragorn smiled, "You did not call me 'lord' when we walked through Moria, my friends, call me what you will but do not think that I have changed now I am king."  
  
Merry and Pippin nodded, feeling somehow foolish as they stood there in their night-gowns. Aragorn then spoke again, his voice hushed. "In all honesty, I have come to check after you. I hope that you are content and that your rooms are satisfactory."  
  
The nodded again for their chambers were more luxurious than any place they had stayed in in the Shire. However, being as they hobbits, they would have felt more at ease in the ground, and not as they were four floors up in a great tower.  
  
"And also, do not worry yourselves over Legolas, I am sure that the Lady Éowyn is correct for Legolas does love to stare at the wonders of the forest. He shall be here tomorrow, and that will be a joyous occasion, I am sure," Aragorn said, an assured look in his eyes.  
  
Merry smiled. "We only worry because we so want to see him again and hear his fair voice."  
  
"That you shall, tomorrow. I bid you goodnight, then," Aragorn said, and to his side they saw the figure of Lady Arwen as she stood with her peacock-blue mantle draped over her body. "I shall return tomorrow for tonight the Lady and I ride to Henneth Annun."  
  
The hobbits asked no questions after the reason why Aragorn and Arwen were departing from Minas Estel at midnight for they held no curiosity over the matter. They greeted the King and Queen a farewell before they fell back into their beds and listened to the sound of the Harma Silma and the fleeting steps of Hasufel as he bore Aragorn and Arwen northwards to the Window on the West.  
  
  
***  
TBC  
  
Chapter Three: The Tidings of Glorfindel  
  
So, this was also a little scene-setter (heaven knows Tolkien liked to scene-set), and the start of the mystery in a way. And if you are wondering what is to come from this series - let me tell you that I am a sucker for hurt-comfort (grin) so expect some of that.   
  
Place Names & Notes on Elvish:  
(roughly translated)  
  
Minas Estel = the tower of hope  
Arda Estel = the region of hope  
Harma Silma = the treasure of starlight  
  
Thanks for the nice reviews, I hope you are all enjoying the story  
  
feedback to  
annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
or via a review on ff.net  
  
*** 


	3. The Tidings of Glorfindel

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Three: 'The Tidings of Glorfindel'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter sees the arrival of unwelcome news.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Estate of JRR Tolkien. You *know* I don't own these guys, you *know* I'm not making a single euro out of this, you *know* I don't have the money for a law suit - so please don't sue, I'm still in school and I don't have a job.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor. If I have made a mistake vis-a-vis details, please tell me so that I can correct myself. Oh and if anyone can help me out with my Elvish, then that would be appreciated.  
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Three - The Tidings of Glorfindel  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Merry and Pippin woke on their third day in Minas Estel as golden rays of light started to creep through the windows of Tower and the clear sound of Elven song could be heard as it floated through Arda Estel. After bathing and dressing they left their chambers and ventured into the corridor, hoping to find someone along the way who would show them where they were to have breakfast.  
  
As it was, it was only a matter of moments before a maid found them gazing at the beautifully woven tapestries on the wall and led them downstairs to the banqueting hall. The wall hangings had at first caught their eye because of their delicate needlework, however as they looked at them more closely, the hobbits saw scenes which they recognised for the tapestries told of the One Ring and the quest of the Ring-bearer to cast it into the Cracks of Doom. There in the stitches were themselves as they fought against the forces of Sauron at the end of the Third Age.  
  
"Well, I never imagined that I'd see that, in all my days!" Merry had exclaimed. "Not only do they have a song about dear Master Frodo, now he's been made into fine tapestries."  
  
At breakfast, the hobbits were surprised to find that Aragorn was not there though the Lady Arwen sat with her child Eldarion alongside Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn. Merry and Pippin sat down next to Gimli and concerned themselves with breakfast for the time being, and assured themselves that the King must have had much business to attend to in Ithilien.   
  
The hall in which they ate was of an oval shape and it had a high ceiling of silver and many windows of stained glass through which the golden sunlight streamed through onto the painted flags of the floor. Around the edges of the hall were tall columns, each one engraved with the pattern of mallorn leaves, their veins highlighted with mithril and their stems made of jewels so that they sparkled as the sunbeams hit them. Along the walls were murals depicting the Court of the Fountain in the Citadel of Minas Tirith and on was painted the White Tree, its blossoms crafted from diamonds set into the rock, though these gems could not equal the beauty of the Tree's flowers. So it was that this was called the Hall of Leaves, the grand hall of Minas Estel in the land of Ithilien.  
  
The banquet table of the Hall was laden with enormous quantities of the finest fruits and breads and it seemed to their hosts that the hobbits had not eaten for weeks, such were their appetites. As the end of the meal drew near, the Queen suggested that Merry and Pippin should explore the further reaches Vale and greet the Elves who dwelled in the hills for much talk had been had amongst them about the arrival of the Shire folk, They were about to leave their seats when Aragorn came through the doorway.  
  
His face was troubled and beside him stood an Elf, his hair shining in the morning light and he carried his bow in his hand. Merry and Pippin recognised him as Glorfindel, the Elf-lord of Rivendell who had aided Frodo's escape from the Ringwraiths.   
  
They approached the table, their faces solemn compared to those of the others. "What is the matter, Aragorn?" asked Arwen as she caught a look in his eyes.  
  
"Glorfindel had unwelcome tidings for me when I called upon his this morn," Aragorn said, as the two sat at the table and a maid brought them goblets of clear water.  
  
"Has this to do with the Elf Legolas?" asked Faramir.  
  
"That it has," replied Aragorn, as Arwen came over to him and placed Eldarion on his knee. "For it seems that neither he nor his kinsman Gloríen have returned and their arrival is four days overdue. I would not think more of it if I had not heard the news Glorfindel has to tell."  
  
All eyes turned on Glorfindel as he sat, his face calm and his voice steady. "Last night I heard talk amongst my people that strange creatures had been seen in the foothills of Ephel Duath. They say these beasts have many legs and move swiftly from tree to tree, leaving webs which cannot be severed even by an Elven blade. These creatures are well known amongst Legolas' kinsmen for they have dwelled for many years in the dark places of Mirkwood. It seemed unthinkable to me that these beasts should roam the land of Ithilien, but early this morning whilst the sky was still dark, I chanced upon one of their webs in the lower hills near Minas Morgul."  
  
Merry and Pippin's eyes opened wide as they listened to Glorfindel, for they had heard of such monsters before, in the tales of Frodo and his capture in Cirith Ungol.   
  
"Shelob?" asked Merry, a disbelieving look upon his face.  
  
"Nay, not she," answered Aragorn. "These creatures likely are her offspring who have ravaged the lands of Middle-earth since before anyone heard speak of Sauron. However, the Free People have lived with their threats, and I am sure that Legolas and Gloríen slew a fair many of her children in the depths of Mirkwood, though my only fear is that they will soon to pray upon the people of Ithilien as they did in the times of old. It is known how dearly these creatures love to gorge themselves upon the flesh of Men and Elves, and it now seems that in this time of peace, these creatures of a darker age may take it upon themselves to endanger the serenity of Ithilien."  
  
Merry could not conceal his shock, for Ithilien seemed to be a place the furthest removed from any danger. "But why are they doing this, why are they venturing into Gondor?"  
  
"They are famished," Aragorn answered. "The orcs have fled from Cirith Ungol and no being passes through the stair that lies next to Terech Ungol. Shelob the Great and her kind do not rest easy when hungry. Now they find themselves forced to leave the dark caverns of Epthel Duath to hunt for food, and as it is they have their eyes on the Elven folk who dwell in the forests of this land."  
  
"What shall we do?" Pippin asked, his tone despairing for he had rarely heard Sam talk of Shelob, such was the terrible nature of their encounter.  
  
Gimli laid his hand on Pippin's arm, "I am sure that whatever has happened, Legolas has been able to defend himself. He is a fine warrior and brave as well." However, there was a look of worry on the dwarf's face which Pippin had never seen before, making his heart fear even more so for the Elf.  
  
"I will send some of my kin to Epthel Duath to search for Legolas and Gloríen," Glorfindel offered, rising from the table. "I shall set out with them at once for haste is necessary in these matters."  
  
After the Elf left the hall, Aragorn retired to the Court of Trees to take counsel with Faramir and the hobbits were left with an uneasy feeling in their stomachs as they imagined the dark ends Legolas and Gloríen may have already come to.  
  
"Perhaps Shelob has eaten them already," Pippin cried, dropping an apple he was about to bite into.  
  
"Maybe she has spun them a cocoon and they lay ready as carrion for her to eat when she chooses," Merry wondered out loud.  
  
Pippin's eyes grew even wider. "Oh, I do hope they have not been pierced by her sharp sting. Poor Legolas!"  
  
The Lady Arwen laid one hand upon each of their shoulders and they were pulled away from their despairing thoughts. By her feet was Eldarion, barely four years of age, his eyes shining as green as the elf-stone and his hair dark and curled about his head.   
  
"Think not those thoughts in Arda Estel," she told them, a smile upon her lips. "The King and the Lord shall discuss the matter and reach a wise decision, and I have known Glorfindel since I was a child and trust him dearly. They shall find your friend and his kinsman, now come outside for the day is fine and I wish to show you and Eldarion something which those who behold think it noble and fair."  
  
The Lady Éowyn was at her side and she held her hand out to Merry, "Come, esquire of Éomer King, and be content for it is a fine day."  
  
Pippin found his hand in that of Arwen Evenstar and he marvelled at her cool and soft touch as he was led out of the Great Hall.  
  
***  
  
And so it was that the hobbits, Eldarion and the Ladies of Rohan and Rivendell walked in the greensward along the banks of the river, birdsong and the fragrance of unknown flowers in the air. Gimli had decided to remain in Minas Estel, and the hobbits had guessed that he still felt uneasy about Legolas' absence, though it was not long before Merry and Pippin had forgotten their anxious thoughts and they were laughing as happily as they had done so the day before. They wound their way up the slopes of Arda Estel, through the tall green trees and the moss covered rocks. As Pippin gazed about him, he thought that they must have stepped back into the times of old, so beautiful was the Vale and even more so the fair faces of Arwen and Éowyn.   
  
The sun was high in the sky when they reached the summit of the great hill and there they saw a tall and grand statue of a king. About his head was a crown of ivy and his eyes were stern and noble. He sat upon a thrown hewn from stone, though the years had worn away its fine decoration.   
  
"Behold," Arwen said, taking Eldarion in her arms and looking up at the old king. "This is Isildur, founder of Gondor and forefather of the Dúnadain."  
  
It seemed to them that the air was perfectly still, and not even a breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees which stood in a great circle around the great statue. The Lady of the Mark had a faint coolness in her eyes as the looked upon Isildur as though it pained her heart to see one that looked so much like the King Elessar. Merry and Pippin did not see this, however, as they stood in awe of the great king, his face gazing over the realm of Gondor from his high seat.  
  
***  
  
It was only when they returned to Minas Estel that Aragorn and Faramir finally came out of their counsel, and when they met the hobbits again at supper their faces were grave and troubled. Aragorn and Arwen sat in the Court of Trees, discussing matters of importance in hushed tones whilst the rest ate in the Hall of Leaves, quietened by the anxious look on Faramir's face.  
  
When Aragorn and Arwen returned to the Hall, their hands held and worry upon their noble faces, the Pippin could feel his heart grow heavy and he lost his appetite. Finally, Aragorn spoke, his voice measured and calm. "It has been decided that Faramir and I shall join Glorfindel on his exploration of Epthel Duath, for this matter has to be attended to with the utmost urgency."  
  
As if by way of explanation, Faramir stood and spoke. "Since this morn we have heard of other disappearances and this matter seems to us to be darker than we had first thought."  
  
"So it is that we must away, and away we shall tomorrow at dawn," Aragorn said his grey eyes decisive. "And I should ask Masters Merry and Pippin to return to Minas Tirith with Gimli and the Ladies Undómiel and Éowyn, for I do not think that you should rest here at this time."  
  
There was an uproar from the hobbits and the dwarf, that they were not to be included in the company. Loudest of all was Gimli, who strode forward and knelt before Aragorn.  
  
"If you be a kind King, do not say such things," the dwarf said, his eyes saddened. "I wish to go with you and the Lord Faramir and find my friend Legolas. If you do not let me, I shall follow you and you shall still not be rid of me until I set my eyes upon the Elf."  
  
Aragorn looked at Gimli steadily, after a moment he replied. "Then accompany us you shall, for I know how dearly you two treasure your friendship, unheard of as it may be for a Dwarf and an Elf to be so close." He smiled and Gimli stood before he hurried away to retrieve his axe from his chambers.  
  
"What about us?" asked Merry and Pippin, seemingly in unison. They felt angry for being overlooked as they too has endured as many perils as the dwarf and they both felt great worry for their Elf-friend.  
  
Arwen glanced at Aragorn, and he gave her fleeting smile. "Who would I be to deny the company of such great hobbit-folk. If you will, I should be pleased to have your assistance, though will none of you stay and keep the Queen and the Lady safe?"  
  
"Do not worry for us," Arwen said, placing taking her husband's hand. "Éowyn and I have endured more dangers than many of your Guards, we shall stay here and await news of your success, and if it is necessary then we too shall aid your quest."  
  
There it was decided that Aragorn, King of Gondor, and Prince Faramir would depart with the hobbits and Gimli for the hills of Epthel Duath the next morn. The news was welcomed by Merry and Pippin for they were desperate to resolve this mystery, though such dark happenings seemed to spoil the fairness of Ithilien which had seemed to them peaceful and so far from the troubles of the times of old.  
  
***  
TBC  
  
Chapter Four: 'The Stair of Cirith Ungol'  
  
Thank you for the really great reviews - now I'm getting into the plot, I hope this is intriguing enough for you. At the moment I'm really annoyed because the first time I wrote this chapter, I pressed the save button and the damn computer froze and I lost it all (Gevaudan will appreciate the stupidity of school computers)... anyways, you don't know how irritating it is to retype everything you had worded so well the first time around! :o)  
  
Hope you like.  
  
Review on ff.net or via annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
*** 


	4. The Way to Cirith Ungol

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Four: 'The Way to Cirith Ungol'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter sees the departure of Aragorn, Faramir, Merry, Pippin and Gimli from Minas Estel in search of Legolas and his kinsmen Gloríen.  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like I was clever enough to make all this stuff up myself? Puh-lease! Though I own Gloríen, though I wish Aragorn were mine, instead.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
Wa-hey, I've expanded into dwarvish! Still, if you're a fan of Tolkien's languages, please bare in mind my vocab is seriously limited. As for accents on elvish words - this damn laptop doesn't want to be nice to me and give me acute accents and circumflexes, so I apologise, because I really do know how to spell them properly. Really, I do.  
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Four - 'The Way of Cirith Ungol'  
------------------------------------------  
  
  
The next morning the Company of five set out from Minas Estel, their hearts the heaviest they had been for years and their faces troubled. Aragorn and Arwen talked in the Court of Trees for many minutes before the King bid his Evenstar and his heir farewell. She knew that she could not convince him to stay, and she too understood that this was Elessar's duty. Unlike his advisors in Minas Tirith, Arwen supported Aragorn's decision, and though they would think it foolish, she thought it to be well judged. With him, Arwen sent her heart as she had done before they had wed during his years as the Captain of the Rangers of the North and she also presented him with his sword, Anduril, its Elven sheath glittering in the early light of a new dawn.   
  
Lady Éowyn parted with Lord Faramir, her expression anxious as she watched the Company mount their freshly watered horses and leave Arda Estel. Aragorn mounted Hasufel and urged the horse given to him by the Rohirrim into a gentle canter, the hobbits following behind with the Prince of Ithilien's horse bearing both him and the dwarf Gimli, who still would not ride alone.  
  
So it was that they left the Vale of Hope, the Harma Silma shining as beams of soft sun beams reflected with a brilliant incandesance. The foothills of Ithilien were cloaked in a gentle mist hanging low to the valley floor and enveloping the green grasses of Gondor, their blades rippling like waves upon the Great Sea.  
  
Their horses were laden with supplies and they rode alone, without an escort, for Aragorn wished to go unnoticed through the land of Ithilien. They rode speedily, every moment wondering what had become of their Elf friend. Pippin tried to will himself to believe that Legolas was safe and had defended himself against whatever creatures crept about these hills under the cover of darkness. However, the young hobbit felt himself become increasingly worried, for it seemed that the distance they had to cover grew rather than lessened as they rode through the lifting mists of early morning.  
  
When at last they stopped, the sun high in the blue sky only hiding briefly behind the clouds before reappearing seconds later, Pippin went up to Aragorn as the others prepared a cooked lunch on a small fire.  
  
"Do you think Legolas is slain?" the hobbit asked as Aragorn stroked Hasufel's back. "I have this awful feeling that something fell has hurt him and I hope it is not true."  
  
Aragorn turned sharply and looked at Pippin with a sure and certain look. "Do not say such things, my friend, for Legolas is not slain, I am sure of it. Let that be assurance enough for you and rest your mind for I am sure in my thoughts and I do not fear for the Elf. He is brave even for one of his race and he knows these creatures since they dwelled in the darks shadows of Mirkwood where he was prince. Have no fear, Pippin." He gave his friend a small but grim smile and turned back to his horse. "Now, do what you hobbits are known best for and prepare some of that fine pipe-weed you brought me from the Shire and I shall join you shortly."   
  
Aragorn took Pippin a small leather pouch from his riding bag and tossed it with a fine aim into the hobbits hands. Pippin then returned to the others and set about his task, filling the pipe Bilbo had given him on their last meeting in Rivendell. As he did this he glanced over at Aragorn, and it seemed to him that the King was once again a Ranger of North, though his clothes were not muddied nor tattered, he still had the air of one who was at one with nature and knew the songs of every bird in the sky and could tell who had passed through a valley by the mere sent on the blades of grass growing from the earth. Pippin put his lit pipe to his mouth, and the apparition of Strider standing next to a great tree and tending to his horse evaporated as the green sparkle of the Elf-stone of Aragorn shone from his breast.   
  
***  
  
They had stopped for no longer than an hour before they left the place where they had rested, heading South once more, following the steep and dark lines of the Epthel Duath as they rode through the flat valley bottoms of Ithilien. Every so often, Aragorn would dismount and stoop to the ground, examining the grasses for signs of Glorfindel's company. When he found a trail, he would leap back upon Hasufel and lead his friends in the same direction, riding swiftly in order to make up the leagues that lay between the two companies.  
  
Though Aragorn discussed not his plans with the hobbits and the dwarf, Pippin was aware that they would probably not chance upon Glorfindel until they had reached Minas Morgul, and this was an arrival which the hobbit was not eager to rush towards. At the end of the first day, however, Faramir told them that they had nearly covered half the distance between Minas Estel and Minas Morgul, and that the next night they would reach the cross-roads where he had journeyed with Sam and Frodo six years before.  
  
As Pippin lay under a tall tree that night, the stars shining brightly in the ink-dark sky and the green leaves of the trees rustling in the evening breeze, a heaviness was in his chest that seemed to grow and become less bearable as the minutes of the night advanced. Though he wanted to prolong the time he had before he came near Minas at the same time he wished that they could ride through the night and reach Glorfindel sooner. Lying beside him was Merry, who was also awake, listening to the faint murmurings of Aragorn and Faramir as they took counsel with each other as Gimli leaned against a tree his slow snores a sound the hobbits came to know well during their time together in Loríen.  
  
"What do you suppose they are talking about," Merry asked suddenly.  
  
Pippin turned on his side to face his friend, moonlight reflecting off his face. "Of the journey ahead, I suspect, though I think they must know more than they tell of the mysterious happenings in this land."  
  
Merry seemed to be content with this answer, and soon Pippin could hear the sound of his breath, soft in slumber, and could see his chest rising and falling as he lay upon the grass.  
  
Sleep did not come this easily for Pippin who could not rid his mind of the terrible thoughts that entered it. "I wish I hadn't left the Shire," he said to himself. "I wish that I had stayed there and presumed that everything was wonderful and fair in Gondor and that my friends were safe and well."  
  
He sighed and urged himself not to feel that way, as Aragorn had told him. However, Pippin fell into a deep and fitful sleep filled with visions of Frodo and Sam's journey into Mordor and his dreams were haunted by eight-legged monsters with vile skin and thousands of beady black eyes.  
  
***  
  
As Faramir had predicted, dusk was falling again when the Company reached the Cross-roads. There four ways met under the boughs of a circle of ancient trees, their leaves in the full bloom of summer, stretching their branches towards the sky. To the hobbits it seemed that these were the tallest trees in all of Middle-earth, grand and noble as they were, planted in the days of old to shelter the roads leading to Morannon, to Osgiliath, to the South and the one which they, as Frodo, Sam and Gollum had done, would take to the deserted Tower of the Moon.  
  
At the feet of the stone king, sitting once again in the splendour of Gondor, Aragorn and Faramir talked of the road they were to take. Gimli hardly said a word to either Pippin or Merry and they could by the impatient look on his face that every minute they tarried on their journey the more he feared for his friend Legolas.  
  
When the sun began to dip below the hem of the Epthel Duath, Aragorn and Faramir turned their horses towards the others and rode over to them.  
  
Aragorn looked troubled and upon his brow lay worries that he had not entertained since his crowning at Minas Tirith. This time, however, he shared his thoughts with the rest of the group, sitting upon Hasufel and casting a sweeping glaze down the road leading to Minas Morgul.  
  
"It was here that I was to receive news of Glorfindel, and now that neither he nor one of his kin has greeted us with news of their expedition, I fear the worst," Aragorn said, his eyes staring into the distance as he tried to make out the shapes in the falling darkness. "Now I must presume that they have continued their searches past Minas Morgul and high into the Epthel Duath, or that something has befallen them." Aragorn turned his face back to the rest of the company. "I do not wish to be correct on the last account."  
  
Faramir looked Eastwards, towards the stars that still shone dimmer than the rest over what had once been the land of Mordor. "We now have the decision to make, Aragorn. Do we venture upon this road this night, or do we rest here and make camp in order to set forth tomorrow, perhaps news will be brought to us tomorrow of the fortunes of Glorfindel in his search for the Elves."  
  
"There are still a few hours of light in this day," Aragorn answered, turning his eyes once more to the skies. "Though I know that I have the will to continue without rest, I cannot speak for the rest of our group. You may be weary and then you must rest the night here, for the road ahead is lined with dangers since the Men of Gondor seldom pass through this way. And after that, if we deem it necessary to take the Stairs of Cirith Ungol to search for Glorfindel, we will have to walk on foot for horses cannot tread there."   
  
He looked around at the company, their faces set in grim resolve. Gimli was the first to speak, "A dwarf is as strong as any man, and I should be happier to keep going than to stop without need."  
  
There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group and Aragorn received them with a nod.  
  
"Though my mind tells me that this is not the wisest decision, my soul knows that we should not linger for longer when we are able to advance. As you are willing, we shall hasten along the road to Minas Morgul, for I fear that the creatures may venture out this night, if indeed Glorfindel has been captured they will assume that others roam this land and we must be wary for we ourselves could be taken if off guard," Aragorn said. "Let us away, then, before night falls thick and we cannot see the road ahead of us."  
  
With a frown on his brow Aragorn urged Hasufel forwards and the company followed, silent and anxious as they started along the road leading East.  
  
***  
  
They had been riding ere one hour when they came to a dark valley running far back into the mountains. Though its shadow was not as grim and consuming as it had been during the days of Sauron's strength, it still was a place of cold and fear for those who lived in the realm of Gondor. Embedded in the rocky slopes of the steep valley sat Minas Morgul, its great black towers reaching towards the dark sky and its walls overtaken by wild trees and climbing brambles. The stone seemed to have been decayed by the evil of the Nazgul and even to look at the walls struck Pippin with a great fear. Though the touch of nature had reclaimed the dark walls and no eerie light of the wraiths glowed from the many windows, Pippin felt ill at ease as he breathed in the stagnant air of the night, "I cannot breathe here," he gasped, the heavy air resting like fumes in his lungs.  
  
Faramir took a breath of the air and spluttered, finding it more potent than he had at first presumed. "It will be long before this vale is cleared of the evil which so long possessed it. Breathe through your nose, Master Peregrin, it will pass shortly once we become accustomed to this land."  
  
Through the valley flowed a river, dark in the black of the night, steam curling up from its banks as though it was heated by the rocks it ran over. On either side of the river luminous white flowers bloomed, though they had no beauty and held the quality of dead and decaying matter. The bridge that ran across the river was guarded by statues of grey stone, carved with expressions of malice and contempt for the realm of Gondor. Pippin tried not to look at their staring eyes and turned his back to the river, instead searching out Aragorn in the hazy fog of the dark evening.  
  
Aragorn was gazing up at what had been the fair and radiant Tower of the Moon, Minas Ithil as it had been built in the days of Gondor's power. However, to him, the dark walls could have never been as beauteous as those of Minas Estel. As he thought of Arda Estel a pain took his heart and he faltered for there he left the Evenstar and their son, the heir to this land who had the blood of Isildur and the Eldar in his veins. The rest of the group reared their horses to a standstill behind Aragorn. Faramir pulled alongside him and followed his King's gaze towards the fearful towers where the Ringwraiths had once dwelled.  
  
"My Lord," Faramir said softly. "What troubles you?"  
  
Aragorn looked into Faramir's eyes, doom in their pools of grey. "Knowledge, Faramir. I know things of this journey that trouble me deeply."  
  
"How is that," he asked.  
  
Wrenching his eyes away from the sight of the shadowy battlements, Aragorn breathed in deeply the dead air of the valley. "The Lady Galadriel showed me her mirror and in it I saw such things that cause me concern."  
  
"Then, pray, share your troubles with me, Lord," Faramir asked, willing to do all he could to ease the worries of his king.  
  
Aragorn looked at Faramir and his eyes were unyielding, acknowledging the fact that Gimli sat behind the Prince. "Nay, Faramir. I do not wish to cause alarm amongst those who travel with us, and it may still be so that what I saw will have no play in the events were are ourselves are involved."  
  
With that Hasufel broke into a steady canter and started for the bridge which lay across the steaming river, its carvings grotesque and its paving cracked and weathered by the fell beasts which had passed across it during darker times. Faramir, Gimli, Merry and Pippin followed him, turning their backs on Minas Morgul and the residues of evil from which the stones of the Tower of the Moon would never recover.  
  
They had barely been riding for a minute along the uneven road to the Stairs of Cirith Ungol when Aragorn suddenly turned about on Hasufel and started with a gallop back over the bridge to the path that led to the city's gate. The company turned and followed Aragorn, unsure of why he was riding towards the dreaded tower. Hasufel ran faster than any of their steeds and Aragorn was at the black walls of the city when he stopped abruptly and sat on his saddle looking ever upwards to the windows of the tower.  
  
When Faramir's horse reached him, Aragorn was out of breath, breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell quickly. His eyes were wide and fixed upon the uppermost tower of the citadel, there was a window and in it a light shone, brilliant yet dark and piercing the night sky. Then as soon as it had appeared, it was gone and Aragorn dropped his head and turned Hasufel about. When Pippin beheld his face, it was pale and taken by something that was akin to fear, though fear it was not as Aragorn could feel fear no longer. The hobbit was gripped with dread to see Aragorn affected in such a way for he had never seen the Ranger display his emotions as he did at that moment outside the gate of Minas Morgul.  
  
Aragorn was silent and he rode back to the bridge, his eyes still trained on the window in the highest tower. The rest of the company followed him without asking of what had happened and they did not speak for a long time as they continued along the broken road to the Stairs.   
  
***  
  
The wooded slopes of the valley were quiet about them, yet as they rode Aragorn must have heard rustlings in the trees as every once in a while he would halt them and peer with suspicion into the dark. Around them darkness fell as thick and heavy as a woollen blanket, muffling the sound of their hooves on the unmade road. Pippin felt the road become increasingly steep and knew only then that they were approaching the Stairs that they must take on foot. His stomach groaned and he wished that he had eaten some lembas when they had taken some food at the Cross-roads. That now could not be helped, and he found that he had no appetite, which startled him for he was a hobbit and could out eat any being in Middle-earth.  
  
Merry rode behind Pippin on the narrow path, and Pippin felt himself long for his friend to be beside him so that he could talk with him of his worries. Pippin tried to think of Rivendell and of the Elves who now lived in Arda Estel and his discomfort was eased temporarily and he felt no longer the need to speak with his friend. He was in the process of remembering Elrond and his fair voice and how he had spoken to Pippin of the Shire and the hobbits when he caught a faint but vile and potent smell in his nose of decay and unspeakable filth. He turned about in his saddle and he could not see Merry behind him. He halted, expecting that Merry was only obscured by the impenetrable darkness and the hobbit would ride into Pippin and laugh at his worry.  
  
However, Merry and his steed did not come riding out from the darkness, and Pippin grew more anxious. In his distress he called out into the night air. "Strider!" he cried, slipping back into his old ways.   
  
"Merry!" Pippin was utterly alone; he could not even hear the fall of Hasufel's hooves upon the road. "Help me, Strider," he called again, the thick air choking him as he called out into the night.  
  
The all at once Hasufel was at Pippin's side and Aragorn was sat atop his mount, Anduril drawn in his hand, the blade gleaming like a flame, illuminating the darkness about them.  
  
"What is it Pippin?" Aragorn asked, his eyes reflecting the light of his sword.  
  
Pippin tried to quell the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "It is Merry, Aragorn! He has been taken."  
  
"Do not say such things if you do not know them to be true, Pippin. Faramir is guarding the rear," Aragorn replied, "perhaps they had to stop for some reason and they could not raise their voices above this thick air to tell us so."  
  
It was at that moment that Faramir rode into them, his horse was whinnying in distress and the Prince's eyes widened with dread, his sword was drawn and behind him Gimli held his axe with a tight grip.  
  
"Where is Merry?" questioned Faramir, urgency in his voice. "He was between us and Pippin and yet he is not here."  
  
Their parley was interrupted as the smell of decay in the air became stronger and more odious, so much so that Pippin felt nauseous and all of a sudden the light of Anduril was reflected a thousand times in the still darkness behind Aragorn. There was a muffled cry from the same direction and they all turned to face the road ahead. Fear struck Pippin's heart and he cried aloud: "Merry!"  
  
Aragorn turned and he tightened his grip on Anduril as he saw a dark form creep forwards, the points of reflected light growing larger and larger and the smell of carrion and filth filling the air so that they could hardly breathe through its stench. Gimli jumped from Faramir's horse and ran forward at the thing, waving his axe and crying aloud 'Baruk Khazad!', the battle cry of the dwarves.  
  
The horses started to turn about in their distress and urged their masters to go back and abandon the path ahead. So strong was the urge of their steeds that Faramir and Pippin were forced to abandon their seats and they stood together by Hasufel who stayed at Aragorn's command. Aragorn held Anduril high above him, light pouring forth from the blade and at that moment a dark mass of stench descended upon them, for the descendant of Ungoliant came forth out of the shadow to smite the travellers.  
  
  
***  
TBC  
  
Chapter Five: 'The Search for Torech Ungol'   
  
So, I hope that this was enjoyable to read. I'm getting into this now, and thanks for all the great feedback, I appreciate it so much as this is the first Tolkien-fic I've tried and I've always thought it was hard to follow in the great man's footsteps.   
  
Translations:  
'Baruk Khazad!' - 'axes of the dwarves!' (now go wow your friends with your newly learnt dwarvish!)  
  
Next part soon.  
  
feedback via ff.net or to annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
*** 


	5. The Search for Torech Ungol

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Five: 'The Search for Torech Ungol'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter sees the Company face their greatest peril of King Elessar's New Age as they travel along the Stair of Cirith Ungol  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like I was clever enough to make all this stuff up myself? Puh-lease! Though I own Gloríen, though I wish Aragorn were mine, instead.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Five - 'The Search for Torech Ungol'  
--------------------------------------------  
  
  
Just as the shadow of the beast fell upon Aragorn's face, a burst of light so powerful that Pippin and Faramir were forced to shield their eyes shone out from Andúril. The creature retreated a foot or so and stood, breathing heavily with deep hisses as it stared from out of its shining eyes, their pupils dark as pitch and full of malice and contempt. In the pool of light an eight-legged monster of rough and grimy skin was seen, its many eyes reflecting the golden light of Aragorn's sword with cool and stark intensity. Its stomach seemed to them to be hollow, as if it had awakened from hibernation starved. Between its arched back legs was a great sting, poised in preparation to attack as it pleased, for need and play were not recognised by this creature as it was the offspring of Shelob and it had no mercy for its victims.  
  
From the beast a foul smell of decay and filth poured forth, a stench so potent that Pippin would have been knocked to the ground if not he had seen what the terrible creature bore upon its knobbed back. For upon its body, wrapped in thick and sticky threads, some as fine as silk and some as thick as rope, was Merry. The hobbit's eyes were starting to close with drowsiness and his limbs were bound tightly to his body so he could not have moved even if he were conscious. Pippin, overcome by the sense of helplessness, whimpered and tried to move towards the beast and his friend, to try and get to his side even if he too was captured and taken to as carrion to be devoured by Shelob the Great. Faramir placed his hand on the hobbit's shoulder to stop him and Pippin stayed, though against his own will, as he watched his friend immobile with unblinking eyes upon the hideous animal. Merry had been stung by the poisoned tail of the spider as Frodo had been before his torture in Cirith Ungol on the border of Mordor. As Pippin gazed at the scene before him, his vision blurred by tears of distress, he saw a small figure, standing with resolve before the great mass of shrivelled hide.  
  
Gimli waved his axe in the air, shouting the battle cry of the dwarves, the creature's eyes fixed on the dwarf with unfailing intensity. After a moment a long, spindle-like leg reached forward and swiped at Gimli. He swung his axe into the foot of the fell animal and it landed harmlessly, barely scratching the brown, rough skin. Gimli attacked again, bringing his axe down with greater strength in defiance of the menacing beast. It was in vain, however, as no sword of man nor axe of dwarf forged by the great metal-smiths of the halls of Moria could defy the one who had been born of Shelob the Great. The blade of the axe shattered into hundreds of fragments as Gimli flung the blade into the stomach of the odious beast. It raised a leg from the ground and wrapped it around the dwarf's waist, tearing him from the ground with unequalled strength as Gimli struggled to disentangle himself from its searing grip.  
  
The creature ignored is victim and it turned its many-eyed star towards the other three of the company. Anger and malicious greed glinted in its thousands of eyes and it lowered its great head and crept forwards towards the men and the hobbit.  
  
"Andúril!" Aragorn cried, in their defence, raising the blade higher in the air. "Leave us be and release those you have taken or face the fate of one smote by Andúril. You are not welcome in the land of Gondor! Go back to whence you came; be gone, for I will see no mercy for one that disturbs the peace of this realm."   
  
It heeded not Aragorn's words and started towards them, intent on capturing more flesh to deliver to Shelob and to devour itself. Aragorn did not stir as he sat astride Hasufel, his eyes keen and resolute as he gripped the Andúril in his right hand, its light spilling around him, making him glorious in his power and nobility. The great spider continued to advance and Pippin could feel Faramir move beside him, ready to retreat if his King ordered him to do so. The hobbit longed to turn and run back to the bridge of Minas Morgul, but he found himself fixed to the ground he stood on, his hand taking his sword from its sheath, willing to serve the King and Prince of Gondor if he was called on.  
  
As Pippin took the sword of the barrow-wight from his side the monstrous creature lunged forward, knocking Aragorn from his horse to the ground. Faramir leapt forwards and tried to drive his sword into the beast's side, though he found that the metal would not penetrate the rough, welted hide. Hasufel ran back down the track to Minas Morgul, its tail whipping about in the air in its distress. Pippin then saw Aragorn upon his back under the arched legs of the spider, Andúril still in his hand. But then the sting of the creature began to move towards Aragorn, glinting in the dull moonlight above the Epthel Dúath as it prepared to strike him in the shoulder.   
  
Suddenly Aragorn struck out his arm and his blade sung in the air as it clashed upon the leg which held Gimli aloft. Andúril had defeated the Dark Lord and then was broken until reforged by the Elven smiths of Rivendell who had raised the Ranger in their fair valley. The mighty lineage of the blade was too great to be denied by the creature and the limb was cleaved from its starved body. The leg fell on the path and with it went Gimli, still struggling to break free of its vice-like grasp.   
  
Anger flashed in the beast's eyes as a yellow-green slime poured from its open wound. Aragorn scrambled up from the ground, Andúril still in his grip as he stared into the black eyes. He stood motionless as the creature watched him. Then for a moment all was still, the darkness fleeing as more light spilled forth from Aragorn's blade. A moment later, the creature turned and disappeared into the woods in front of them, bearing Merry upon its back, but leaving the others alone as Andúril's light faded and the darkness enveloped them once again.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Faramir was still gripping Pippin's shoulder when Aragorn, who had remained unscathed, turned back to them a few moments later. Gimli was at his side, holding his axe which was now without blade. Across his forehead was a gash from which blood dripped upon his beard: the dwarf looked at his weapon gravely and was silent. Hasufel returned to the group from Western reaches of the road and came towards Aragorn who rested his hand upon its mane. Pippin was still distraught by the memory of seeing Merry being taken away for food into the dark forests that surrounded the Stair of Cirith Ungol and he wept gently despite the severity of their situation.  
  
Aragorn was the first to speak. "That was one of Shelob's descent," he said, re-sheathing his sword. "They indeed venture from their caverns to capture their victims, as I had thought."  
  
"We must go after it," Pippin gasped in-between his sobs. "We must find Merry before..."  
  
Pippin trailed off weakly and dissolved into tears for never had he felt more worry for his friend and never had he felt so alone since the days when Merry was in Rohan and he was in Gondor during the War of the Ring.  
  
Aragorn rested a hand on Pippin's arm, bending to the ground so that his eyes met those of the hobbit. His hair was tangled he still laboured in his breathing from the attack. Howeverhis eyes were calm, empathetic and noble and conveyed more than word could to Pippin. "That we shall, my friend. We will find Master Merry and he shall return to Minas Estel, that I promise you."  
  
"But how can you promise that when we all know for certain what doom he shall come to," Pippin asked, his eyes widening.  
  
"There are things of this journey that I have known of for years," Aragorn replied, looking over Pippin's shoulder in the direction of Minas Morgul. His eyes returned to Pippin and he shook his head slowly: "Do not fear for Merry."  
  
The hobbit's worries were eased by Aragorn's reassuring words, though he wondered how he had come to know of their search for Legolas in these wild hills. This question he mulled over in his mind as he tried not to think too much of Merry whilst Aragorn tended to Gimli's wounds. Soon they were ready to begin their search and Aragorn discussed their plans with Faramir.  
  
"We shall have to take the Stair of Cirith Ungol, as previously we planned," Aragorn told the Prince. "Though now we mustn't tarry and great haste is needed if we are to succeed."  
  
Faramir nodded. "But, I have heard that the Stair is long and the journey along it may take near to two days even at great speed, for the way is treacherous and void of light. We have not rested for a long time and I fear that we may have no sleep in vast tunnels ahead of us."  
  
"Though that is true, we cannot delay our journey," Aragorn replied looking into the darkness ahead. "I would have us rest if not the danger were so close. We must away, Faramir."  
  
"That I understand," he replied.   
  
Aragorn came over to Pippin and Gimli, who were sitting on a large rock by the wayside, looking around themselves cautiously. "I'm afraid we must move," Aragorn said, his face grave. He bent low to the ground and felt the ground beneath him. He then stood up again and turned to Faramir beside him. "The creature has not taken the path to the Stair, Faramir. He has gone into the forest."  
  
"The there we must follow," Faramir replied. "For perhaps it has not gone to Shelob and instead has its own lair in these wood, and I reckon our chances better amongst the trees than in the caverns and tunnels."  
  
"That I'm not sure of," Aragorn replied, examining the woodland about him in the shadow of the night. "It may be that Torech Ungol, the Lair of Shelob the Great, stretches far into Epthel Dúath and there are ways into her caves apart from the way of the Stair."  
  
Faramir looked at Aragorn for a moment, unsure of what his King was thinking. "Can you follow the trail of the creature?"  
  
"Possibly," he replied. "They leave a trail behind them more obvious than that of any creature apart from the Nazgul, however, I have rarely been in these parts and I know not what I cannot see with my eyes."  
  
"You shall lead us wisely, I am sure," Faramir said, laying a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn took the hand and Aragorn held it.  
  
"Faramir, thou are noble but I shall not ask you nor the others to follow," he said with kindly eyes. "I have Hasufel and Andúril. Take Pippin and Gimli to Minas Estel and await my return with the Elves."  
  
"Nay, my King," Faramir said strongly, bowing on one knee in front of Aragorn and putting the King's hand to his breast. "If the others feel as I do and do not wish to return to Arda Estel, I shall follow you into whatever danger you may face."  
  
"Me too," Pippin croaked, his voice hoarse from his grief. "I am a Guard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith and I swore my allegiance to Denethor and Faramir after him, and then to you, my friend, King Elessar. Don't ask me not to come with you, not to help find Merry if he is as safe as you say. Do not deny me my heart's will, to find my friend."  
  
Gimli stood and placed his broken axe before Aragorn's feet. "You know my will, Aragorn. I shall follow where you lead."  
  
Aragorn looked about him at the other three, his grey eyes shining in the dim light that fell upon the road from the dark sky above. "Then I am glad, for your strength will give me my strength, and your resolve shall aid me when hope fails."  
  
"Speak not such grave words," said Faramir, standing and taking his sword from its sheath once again. "The night may be dark, but dawn follows always."  
  
Aragorn's face was grim as he stared into the forest. "Yes, my friend, but the night is long and dark and many fell things hide in its shadow."  
  
***  
  
  
The four walked without rest through the forest on the slopes of Epthel Dúath, their feet feeling not their weariness for they thought only about their friends and the dangers to come. Aragorn found that the creature's trail was easier to follow than he had presumed, and it led them up through dried up ravines and river beds into the rocky slopes of the mountains.  
  
Hasufel was able to follow as well, for he was a horse of Rohan and was foot-sure though he sometimes stumbled upon the grimy, slime covered rocks on the mountain slopes. About them trees stood, older than those in Lorién, though not beautiful and decayed they appeared, their great branches covered in fungi and mosses that dripped from their twigs and swayed in the dead night breeze. Sometimes they would come across great webs, great messes of spider-cord and string, strewn from branch to trunk, in their traps were captured the carcasses of birds and animals of the forest. Pippin presumed that this was what the creatures had fed from during their years without the corrupted flesh of Orcs to fill their voluminous stomachs.  
  
They continued along their journey into the dawn and through the day, the light aiding their footing, but making them more visible to their enemy amongst the sparsely wooded slopes of the rocky ravines and hills. Dusk soon fell and Aragorn allowed them to stop and rest in a thickly wooded part of the forest, for they were exhausted from travelling and their stomachs ached for food more substantial than the lembas they had eaten as they followed the trail left by the beast.  
  
Aragorn and Faramir went away into the forest to find kindling for their small fire after Gimli persuaded them that a small fire would not reveal them to the creatures and that they needed warmth at any cost for the night was cool for summer and their clothes were not heavy and warm. Gimli remained behind with Pippin and Hasufel and the hobbit set about getting together the gear he needed to cook them a meal. Within moments, Gimli put his head to the ground and fell into a deep sleep for he was tired and worried for Legolas. Pippin could not think of sleep and was so hungry that for a moment the thought of Merry was pushed from his head. It was only when he chanced upon his pipe-weed that he was reminded of his friend and wept for he missed Merry so much.   
  
He wiped his bleary eyes and stared up through the branches of the trees to the night sky above him. Then Pippin saw something he did not expect and he remained perfectly motionless for fear of what it was. Above him a great web had been spun, stretching from one tree to the next. In the centre of it was a bundle of spider's silk, larger than a hobbit it was and it moved slightly against its impenetrable binds.  
  
Pippin slowly backed away from where he had sat, crawling backwards over sharp rocks and soil until his back hit something. A leg.  
  
He sprung up and turned with a cry, facing the thing he had collided with. He looked up and saw the figure of Aragorn, silhouetted against the bleak moonlight. Pippin breathed a sigh of relief, "I thought you were one of those beasts!"  
  
Aragorn and Faramir looked at Pippin curiously. "What is the matter, Pippin?" asked Faramir, seeing Pippin staring into the branches of a tree. "It is but a web, and we have chanced across so many of those this day. You cannot be wary of that, surely?"  
  
Moving forwards, Aragorn took Andúril from his side and cleaved the web from the tree, breaking its cords from where they clung tightly to the bark of the tall trees. The cords sprang back, whipping noisily in the air and cutting twigs and branches from the trees as they hit with great force against the wood. The elven forgery of the sliced through the cords easily and soon the web slid down upon the ground, cords of spider's silk flailing about maliciously. One narrowly avoided Gimli's head as he awoke from his sleep at the sound of what was happening.  
  
Amongst the webs, the bundle struggled with even greater resistance. Pippin pointed towards it, "I was just about to tell you -"  
  
Aragorn moved forward and looked back at the hobbit, "This is what you saw?"  
  
"Yes, in the trees," Pippin replied, his heart rejoicing in hope that it was Merry.  
  
Sliding his sword under the tangle of cords and thread, Aragorn carefully sliced through them, standing away from their recoil as they leapt towards him, stinging the air. Layers and layers he had to cut through until he caught a glimpse green cloth. Pippin's heart sank, for Merry had not been wearing this colour of moss green. As Andúril cut through the last few cords, a gleam of gold shone through the night air. A coughing could be heard from the tangle of web about the body. Aragorn knelt to the floor beside it and smoothed his hand over the face of the cocooned person, his long fair hair knotted amongst the threads of the web.   
  
Aragorn pulled the Elf from his wrappings and laid him upon the ground, for there lay Legolas, his eyes wide upon his fair face, lines of worry crossing it that none had seen upon the clear skin before.  
  
***  
TBC  
***  
  
Chapter Six - 'The Caverns of Epthel Dúath'  
  
So, what do you think? Some serious hurt/comfort to come in the next few instalments, I reckon (evil grin). Thanks for the wonderful reviews, which are really appreciated cos a lot of time and love goes into writing fic and its nice to know that other people are enjoying it too!  
  
So go and review this now! :o)  
  
Language Notes -   
Hurrah - just plain ole' English this time around, but maybe some next time if you're lucky!  
  
review via fanfiction.net or send an e-mail to annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
www.angelfire.com/indie/anna_rousseau More of My Fic at the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue & Suture Room... and the soon to be added Aníron site dedicated to all things Arwen & Aragorn (cos I love 'em together).  
  
*** 


	6. The Caverns of Epthel Dúath

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Six: 'The Caverns of Epthel Dúath'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter sees the company's discovery of Legolas and a journey into the caverns of Epthel Dúath.  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like I was clever enough to make all this stuff up myself? Puh-lease! Though I do own Gloríen, though I wish Aragorn were mine, instead.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Six - 'The Caverns of Epthel Dúath'  
-------------------------------------------  
  
  
Aragorn knelt beside Legolas, his hand laying upon the Elf's brow. The air about them was thick with the darkness of Epthel Dúath and there was a discomforting silence in the forest that brought a shiver to Pippin even though his elven cloak was wrapped tightly around his body. Faramir bent down and examined the bundle of spun cords which had held Legolas as prisoner, testing their strength against his sword, tempered by the smiths of Minas Tirith.  
  
Legolas shivered fervently and his forehead glistened with beads of sweat brought about from his fever. His clear eyes stared towards the sky as if he anticipating another blow from the monster's sting. Aragorn spoke to the Elf softly in Legolas' tongue, trying to bring him out of his troubled sleep. Gimli laid a hand upon his friend's arm, staring intently into the unseeing eyes as they watched the darkness above with piercing intensity.   
  
Many minutes passed as they kept vigil over the sleeping Elf, his eyes never closing against the deepening darkness that smothered the hills and trees around them. Pippin sat close by, willing himself to sleep without success as Aragorn sat patiently and with worry beside Legolas, waiting for the effect of the poisonous venom to wear off, or for it to take its victim.  
  
Faramir departed to retrieve some fresh athelas, leaving the King's side for a few minutes only before returning with the herb which Aragorn crushed the hilt of Andúril upon a stone. He slit open Legolas' tunic with his sword and there, upon the luminous skin of the Elf's chest was a large swollen sore, the wound made by the sting of the beast. Aragorn examined the wound before pouring some water over it and laying the crushed athelas on the injured skin. He then bound Legolas' chest with strips of material torn from the Elf's own cloak and, with Faramir's assistance, moved him onto a softer bank of parched grass under one of the tall trees.   
  
There for the next hour or so, Gimli and Aragorn sat beside Legolas, mopping his brow and trying to rouse him from his sleep as the night drew upon its darkest hours.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn murmured, drawing his hand over the Elf's forehead. "Ai, Legolas-"  
  
At that moment the eyes darted from side to side and Legolas' mouth gasped at the air about him. His gaze settled on Gimli and a faint smile pulled at his lips. "I hoped that I would never see the day when I needed a dwarf to rescue me," Legolas said, his voice weak and wary.   
  
Gimli smiled back at his friend before his expression became once again grave. "Do you recall what happened? What attacked you? How long have you-"  
  
Aragorn silenced the dwarf with a wave of his hand for he was anxious not to distress Legolas so soon with their troubles. "Legolas has not recovered yet, Gimli. We shall all wait for the answers to the questions we ask until he is less weary."  
  
"Do not treat me as an invalid," Legolas said, a tone of amusement in his voice as he saw the worried expressions on his faces of his friends. He sat up slowly and stretched his arms in front of him with a smooth motion. "See, I am perfectly well."  
  
Pippin, however, saw the twinge of pain upon the face of the Elf as he moved his stiff limbs. Then, as Legolas' hair shifted from his neck, the Hobbit caught sight of another red wound on his pale and radiant skin. "You have been stung twice," cried Pippin, rushing over to his friend and taking his hand, "by one of Shelob's kin, just as Frodo was in Torech Ungol on his journey with Sam to Mordor, and Merry, too. How have you survived such cruelty?" Pippin's eyes shone with tears, "You are an Elf, of course, and the Elves are great creatures - but how shall Merry the hobbit fare against such torments?"   
  
Legolas' eyes gleamed with sorrow, as if he had been reminded of something his troubled sleep had allowed him to forget. "Why have you come here? Why does Pippin speak of Merry with such woe," he asked, his eyes darting around the group suspiciously. "Great danger has accosted us, has it not? I wandered too far into the reaches of Epthel Dúath and was separated from my kinsman Gloríen. You have heard ill news of him, I fear, or otherwise you would not have come."  
  
Aragorn looked to Faramir before he turned to Legolas and spoke softly and steadily. "Two days ago Glorfindel came to Minas Estel with news which did not bode well for your fortunes. He told of the many webs of Shelob's offspring which had been found amongst the trees of Epthel Dúath. We awaited your arrival, and that of Gloríen, in Arda Estel, however you did not come. I at first thought no more of it than you had simply lost track of the days since you set out, but what I and Faramir heard of the beasts caused us great concern."  
  
"And your concern is greatly appreciated," Legolas said, putting a hand to his aching chest. "Though, I see that Glorfindel is not here. Did he not travel with you?"  
  
"He was a day ahead of our company," Faramir answered, his serious eyes shining out from beneath his brow. "We hoped to meet up with him but we have been waylaid since our departure and what I have seen in the past day troubles me deeply."  
  
Legolas looked around the faces before him. "Pippin mentioned Merry, but he is not here, has he too been taken by the beasts?"  
  
Pippin cast his eyes down to the ground and felt tears well in his eyes again at the name of his dearest friend. Soon his sorrow became too great for him to contain and Pippin threw himself upon the ground, shudders of despairing sadness racking his body. Legolas put his hand upon the hobbit's shoulder and that seemed to calm Pippin slightly. His sobs died down, but when he looked back up the tears still streamed down his face.   
  
His eyes met those of Aragorn and he was reminded of what he had been told by his friend. "There are things of this journey that I have known of for years. Do not fear for Merry." The words echoed in his mind and soon his tears dried, for he trusted Aragorn with all his heart and he would do his best to believe his words.  
  
A few moments later Faramir and Aragorn sat under one of the trees and talked with each other for a time, contemplating what should be done next. When their decision was made, Aragorn stood and went over to the others.  
  
"It has been decided that Legolas must be taken to the Houses of Healing, for I know not enough about the blow he has been dealt and its poison and the worse of his illness may yet come," he said solemnly.  
  
"But I thought that the hand of the King cured all wounds," said Pippin, his eyes wide. "You brought Merry and the Lord Faramir and his Lady Éowyn from the Shadow after the Witch-King smote them, surely the poison of these beasts is not as deadly!"  
  
Aragorn replied with worry in his eyes. "Shelob was here before the Elves, her evil is different to that of Sauron but it is of as serious a nature. I do not wish to take chances, so I have bidden Faramir to take you, Legolas and Gimli to Osgiliath on Hasufel, then on to Minas Tirith. I would have him take you to Minas Estel, though it is farther from here and we must not tarry. When you have been given fresh horses, you must send Hasufel back and his feet shall find me. I shall remain here and go in search of Merry, alone as I had originally planned, for safety does not come in numbers when you enter Torech Ungol."   
  
"No, do not make me leave Merry. Let me go with you," Pippin pleaded. "I will not abandon him and if that means going by myself to find him, then that I will do."  
  
Aragorn knelt beside the hobbit, taking his hand. "I should never forgive myself if I were to lose both of you to Shelob. Do not ask of me which I cannot grant."  
  
"You do not understand!" Pippin replied, feeling somewhat helpless in the situation he found himself. "I cannot bear to leave him when he needs me most!"  
  
"That I do understand," answered Aragorn, a pain shining in his eyes. "However, it is not wise for you to stay. Faramir will be with you and I shall find Merry, as I promised you."  
  
"But who will be with you when you too are captured?" asked Pippin, the fear of losing both Aragorn and Merry grippin him with panic.  
  
Aragorn looked into Pippin's eyes and held their gaze for a few moments. "I have Andúril, the Flame of the West, at my side and the Elfstone given to me by the Lady of Lórien lighting my way. What is more, I have the grace and love of Undómiel in my heart and the valour and honour of the Dúnadain tempers my will. That gives me my strength, Pippin. That should give you trust in me."  
  
Pippin fell silent, the heaviness in his heart lifting, though the determination to stay with Aragorn not weakening in the slightest. After a moment he spoke. "I place my trust and myself in your care, my King. And as a guard of the White City, I would be betraying you by leaving your side. Do not ask me to betray you."  
  
Aragorn looked to Faramir who was standing behind Pippin. "What shall I do, Faramir. I wish not to take this fine man from his friend, though my heart and mind tell me that the worst shall come if he does not leave."  
  
"Friendship and brethren before personal peril," Faramir answered with conviction.   
  
Aragorn nodded and turned back to Pippin. "You know the peril you place yourself in, friend. But I understand the binds of loyalty which keep you from seeing your doom." He smiled for a moment, "Your persistence has certainly made me do the one thing I willed myself not to give in to. I should not allow you to have such a hold over me, but I know your pain too well to increase it through distance."  
  
Pippin smiled at Aragorn, though his elation was subdued by his fear for Merry's life. "Thank you. You shall not regret this."  
  
Aragorn smiled back at him grimly. "Something tells me that I will, Pippin."  
  
***  
  
  
So it was agreed that Faramir would ride with Legolas and Gimli to Osgiliath before the first light dawn fell upon the foothills of Epthel Dúath. Hasufel, however, had wandered away during their parley and Aragorn went off with Pippin to bring the horse back to the others. In the dark they had to keep their eyes to the ground so they did not stumble and so that they would not miss the tracks Hasufel had made in the ground. Aragorn was certain in his footing as they trailed his horse and they went at a steady pace deeper into the woods where Aragorn suspected Hasufel had gone to find food.  
  
"So, where are we to go in our search for Merry," asked Pippin, breathing heavily as he tried to keep up with the Ranger's long strides.   
  
"As I mentioned before, I suspect that the caverns of these hills may lead to Torech Ungol, and there I hope to find Merry," Aragorn answered, stepping around a tree and ducking under a web which hung low across two branches.  
  
Pippin nodded. "And what do you think of our chances. You said you knew of this journey."  
  
"That I did," Aragorn replied, looking at Pippin for a moment before casting his gaze into the darkness ahead of him. "But I do not wish to tempt the things I have foreseen into existence."  
  
The hobbit was silent as he contemplated Aragorn's words. He followed him through the woods and across the small, muddied streams that ran over rocky river beds. After a few minutes of walking they came across a larger stream running from further uphill. Aragorn, deciding that Hasufel had gone to water, followed it upstream. Pippin followed, keeping an eye on the water which glinted into the dull moonlight, even through the dirt it carried.  
  
Suddenly they came to a sheer face of rock, grey and cold in the air of early dawn and out of it the brook ran from a black cavern. Water dripped from the staligtites that hung from its arch and inside was a deep blackness which the moonlight could not penetrate. Across the gaping mouth of the cliff were webs, luminous sticky white against the darkness of the cave. There was a rip in the curtain of spider spun silk. Mosses of rough brown spilled over the pitted stone of the cliff and a shrill echo of wind could be heard streaming through the caverns under Epthel Dúath.  
  
Aragorn and Pippin paused as they stood by the entrance to the cave, hearing no sound except that of the wind which blew from East across Mordor and through into Shelob's lair.   
  
"Is this the way you talked of, Aragorn?" asked Pippin, grabbing hold of his small Elven dagger. "Merry has been taken this way, hasn't he?"   
  
"Perhaps," he replied, moving forward and peering into the darkness through the webs. Just as he leant forward, a sudden wind caught some of the loose strands and they blew into Aragorn's face, lashing upon his skin. As if stung, he drew back and put a hand to his brow. When he removed it there was blood upon his forehead and a deep cut was scored upon his skin. Aragorn looked first into the cavern and then at the blood upon his hand before turning to Pippin. "Go back, Pippin. Go back now."  
  
Taking Andúril in his hand and slicing through the spiders' cords, he stepped through the web into the darkness, his step steady and certain.  
  
"S-Strider?" Pippin stammered as another chill bust of air blew from the mouth of the cavern. "You - you said that - that I could come with you."  
  
Pippin went through the curtain of cobwebs and gasped in surprise as he came face to face with Aragorn. His eyes were wide and his voice was commanding yet caring. "You must go back, do as I say."  
  
Water dripped from the ceiling of the cavern into the hobbit's upturned eyes. "But I do not know the way - "  
  
At that moment there was a flash of silver and gold and something brushed past Pippin and out of the cavern, knocking the hobbit to the ground. There, in front of the cave's mouth stood Hasufel rearing on his hind legs and whinnying with a terrible sound.  
  
Aragorn pulled Pippin to his feet and pushed him out of the cavern firmly but with care. "Hasufel will take you. Go to Osgiliath and send word to the Queen of what has happened."  
  
Pippin turned back and stared at Aragorn as he held Andúril, his eyes burning with determination and his face troubled with lines of worry. "But-"  
  
"For Merry's sake you must go," Aragorn urged. He then placed his fingers to his lips and in turn to his brow in a gesture of farewell. "Elen síla lúmenn. Noro lim, mellon."  
  
With that Aragorn turned back into the darkness, holding Andúril in front of him as the shadow enshrouded his body. Pippin, in dismay, ran to Hasufel and after a few attempts, managed to mount the great steed. As soon as he was settled upon its back, Hasufel started into the forest, his steps swift and steady.  
  
As they weaved back and forth through the trees, Pippin saw the cavern's mouth fade into the darkness, as if it were a dream whose memory disappeared when you woke.  
  
"Farewell, Strider," he sighed, tears forming in his eyes. "I suppose there is little hope of me seeing you and Merry again."   
  
There was no reply, for Hasufel rode swiftly and Pippin's words, as his tears, were caught in the breeze that ran over him, drying and disappearing as soon as they were formed.  
  
***  
  
  
Pippin arrived at the place where the others rested within moments of his departure from the cavern. There he had explained what Aragorn had told them to do to a wave of protests. Faramir insisted that he must go back and stay with the King, for it was his duty, however Gimli and Legolas then refused to make for Osgiliath as they too were loyal to Aragorn.  
  
This was how their discussion continued until they heard a cry echoing through the forest. The sun had started to creep over the tops of Epthel Dúath and its faint rays fell through the heavy mists onto the branches of the trees which surrounded the company. They turned in the direction of the noise, but could see nothing.   
  
Faramir was the first to speak again, though he did so very softly and with caution, "We should move."  
  
Suddenly, as the Prince spoke, a figure came running through the trees, a gleam of gold by its side as it reached them. It was Aragorn and in his grip was Andúril, flaming with a brilliance they had seen the night before. Blood ran from the cut on his brow and his hair was matted by the water that had dripped from the ceiling of the cavern. He came over quickly to the others and grabbed Hasufel's reigns.  
  
"Legolas, get on Hasufel," Aragorn cried. When he saw that none of them were moving he shouted again, "NOW!"  
  
Faramir and Gimli then helped Legolas mount the horse without questioning the King and Aragorn picked up Pippin and placed him behind the Elf. "What is the matter?" the hobbit asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.  
  
"Faramir, help Gimli onto Hasufel," Aragorn said, not answering Pippin's question. As Faramir helped the dwarf onto the horse, Aragorn spoke to Hasufel softly before turning to Pippin. "Head straight for Osgiliath, Pippin. Do not tarry or turn back."  
  
"What is wrong?" Pippin asked again, staring into Aragorn's eyes.  
  
The King looked back at his friend and placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "You must fly."  
  
There was a sound of crunching and rattling in the trees and Aragorn said no more. When all three were mounted, Hasufel set off at a gallop through the trees, with the Prince and the King in pursuit. They were being followed, though they had no notion what their pursuers were. Pippin tried to turn to see what they were fleeing from, but the dawn had not brought any clarity to the darkness of the trees and he could not make out what was following them.   
  
Faramir and Aragorn ran behind Hasufel, leaping over boulders and streams as they tried to keep up with the horse, and it seemed a wonder to Pippin that they did not fall behind. They ran for a long time, away from the scurrying noises that followed them, through the webs that hung from the branches above them, over the rocky river beds and through the steaming streams. And then, suddenly, they came out of the forest and found themselves on the road to Minas Morgul where Merry had been captured. Indeed, there on the uneven road lay a severed leg, glistening in the morning light, yellow-green blood drying on the wayside.  
  
"Do not stop!" Aragorn cried from behind them. Then, at that same moment, Pippin caught sight of a dark form climbing amongst the trees at the side of the road. His breath caught in his chest, and he dug his heels into Hasufel's flanks. The pace of the horse became faster but the ride remained smooth. As they rode, Pippin heard a clash of metal. He turned around, whilst keeping his arms held tightly about Gimli's large waist, and saw what he had never expected to see.  
  
For there, behind them, and surrounding Faramir and Aragorn, were dozens of the great spiders. They descended from the tops of the tall trees and fell onto the ground behind them, their claws making a horrendous clatter upon the road.  
  
The two Men had stopped and were trying to hold back the wave of black beasts that threatened to overtake them. Aragorn wielded Andúril and swung the great sword before him, plunging the blade deep into their hollow stomachs and great eyes, the discoloured blood pouring forth from the wounds the Elven blade inflicted. The sword of Faramir was not of the same lineage as Andúril, and it had not been tempered by Elven smiths. When the Prince tried to run the blade through the rough skin of the great spiders, it glanced off without creating a scratch on the rough skin of the beasts. Soon Aragorn could not hold off the tide of beasts any longer, and with a cry to Faramir they turned their backs and ran from their positions, tripping over the stones in their way as they tried to flee from the stings of the beasts.  
  
"Aragorn! Faramir!" Pippin wailed, watching the plight of his friends. The Men were now a fair way from Hasufel, but the spiders were gaining on the horse as they crept through the trees alongside the road, scurrying as their long legs swung from branch to branch, leaving their webs behind them.  
  
Pippin could not bear to see his friends suffer so, and tore his eyes away from them and concentrated on the road ahead. They were quickly approaching the bridge over the great river that ran through Morgul Vale, its waters steaming in the early morning light. And suddenly, the beasts overtook them, and streamed over the bridge in a mass of black. Pippin thought he saw white bundles strapped upon the backs of the monsters, just as he had seen Merry upon the spider the night before, and the sight made his heart heavier and his will faded. He clung to Gimli and shut his eyes, not wanting to see the terrors which surrounded him.  
  
Then water enveloped him, and Pippin gasped for breath, his mouth filling with a foul-tasting liquid. He struggled to surface and waved his arms above his head is distress. Pippin could not swim, and he felt himself drowning in water that seemed to pull him deeper into its strong current. There was a sound of a deep plunge beside him and suddenly he was pulled out of the grasp of the dark water and into the dull light of the morning.  
  
Beside him was Aragorn, holding his head and shoulders above water. His hair was dampened from his jump into the river and his ears were listening to what was happening around them. Pippin looked about himself and saw that they were wading in the river under the bridge and above them the sound of the spider's feet echoed on the white stone. Gimli and Legolas were also there by Hasufel who was standing quite stationary in the river; their heads were held above the water and their lips were stilled in silence.   
  
Then, without warning, there was a cry from above and figure hurtled from a great height into the river. A splash was raised from its fall, sending a fountain of water into their faces. The sound of the beasts scuttling over the bridge died away, but all of their eyes were looking at the place further down stream where the dark mass had fallen. When the body surfaced, Aragorn waded over to it with caution. He took it in his arms and brought it back to where the others hid under the arches of the bridge. Pippin then beheld the body of Faramir, heir to the stewards of Gondor, as he lay in the King Elessar's arms, his sword still in his hand and his eyes wide open. A deep pain shined in Aragorns eyes and around the two Men of Gondor the water flowed red with blood down to the Anduin and the Great Sea.  
  
  
***  
TBC  
***  
  
Chapter Seven - 'The Halls of Minas Morgul'  
  
Oh - I am evil to leave you here. Sorry this took a bit longer than usual, I was deciding what pain to inflict next, and I also was helping my sister decorate eggs for our school Easter Egg Competition - and, as you may have guessed, we're making the Fellowship at the Council of Elrond. And guess who got to make Elrond - you have no idea how hard it is to make Elven robes for an egg - and not to mention Arwen (though I might have gone a little OTT on her by putting darts in her dress - OK, I really enjoyed GCSE Textiles). And if you think I'm really strange, I'll remind you that I'm still in school, so its moderately credible to be decorating eggs as LotR characters. *Moderately*.  
  
Anyway, that has nothing to do with the story - which I hope you like.   
  
Elvish Notes:  
  
"Elen síla lúmenn. Noro lim, mellon." - 'A star shines on us. Ride swiftly, friend' (that's what it is in my Pidgin Elvish - I know some vocab, but nothing about syntax)  
  
  
Feedback, as always, is the best a fanfic writer can get:  
annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
*** 


	7. The Halls of Minas Morgul

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Seven: 'The Halls of Minas Morgul'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 SR - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter tells of the Company's darkest perils and the struggles Faramir and Legolas face whilst the others go in search of Merry. By Valar, this is turning into a mini-epic!  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to dear old Professor Tolkien. However, Gloríen is mine - so I have a right to maim him.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
Covering My Own Arse Disclaimer: Last part might have been slightly confusing, but like JRR himself, I'm gonna go back on myself and be more explanatory... and a second point - who said Faramir was dead? I'm not *that* evil :o)  
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Seven - 'The Halls of Minas Morgul'  
-------------------------------------------  
  
  
As Pippin stood in the water of the steaming river running under the white bridge staring at Faramir as he lay wounded in Aragorn's arms, confusion overtook him. What he had not seen was truly terrifying to contemplate. As Gimli, Legolas and Pippin had ridden down the road to Minas Morgul on Hasufel, the Prince and the King had fled from the many great beasts pursing them. They had run over the pitted road, leaping over cracks and fissures in the paving stones, tripping over their feet in their haste and sometimes having to defend themselves with their weapons whilst they flew. Aragorn, being more fleet of foot than Faramir, had nearly reached Hasufel when Faramir fell on the ground once more, his foot slipping from underneath him so that he lay upon his back at the mercy of Shelob's kin.  
  
Aragorn, however, did not see this as he watched Hasufel jump into the river to escape the beasts that had overtaken them. The great horse fell into the waters without so much as a disturbance of the water and then surfaced under the bridge. The spiders scuttled over the bridge, not noticing that the Dwarf, the Hobbit and the Elf were hiding under the stone arches immersed in the vile waters following through Morgul Vale.   
  
Aragorn had then turned and saw another of the beasts was gaining on him. He reached out with Andúril and the blade whistled through the air as he cut through the spider's legs so that the creature tumbled to the ground. He then leapt into the river without hesitation, the waters covering his head. Aragorn had then pulled Pippin from the waters he was drowning in and hid in safety of the shadows the arches made, waiting for Faramir to join them.  
  
Alas, there had been no sign of Faramir, and Aragorn grew more worried and began to wade towards the banks of the river to see if he was in danger. Faramir was at that moment in a desperate struggle against the creatures of Torech Ungol. After he had slipped whilst running to the bridge, he had been trapped under the great arches of one of the creature's legs and was pinned to the ground. He had attempted to drive his steel blade into the skin of the monster, but yet again it was not as keen as Andúril and the second time he struck the leg of the spider, it broke. The blade was in two, broken half way down the blade. Faramir grasped the hilt in his fist and struggled to free himself from the grasp of the spider, and somehow he managed to escape. He pulled himself upon his feet and ran to the bridge, sprinting to avoid the creatures pursuing him, and then, when he had set foot upon the white stone of the bridge, a great blow struck his arm. Faramir was sent with great force into the wall of the bridge and he brought his hand up to break his fall. And as he fell, he did so upon his broken sword, its blade keener to the skin of Men than to the hide of spiders. It was driven deep into his side and his eyes were wide with the horror of what had happened. He cried in despair and grief, for in his eyes he had died without honour. Faramir then felt himself tossed by the jaws of the same spider over the wall of the bridge and into the murky waters of the river.   
  
The beasts did not pursue them into the river, for they had carrion enough upon their backs, wrapped in bundles of their spun web as they made their way to the dark walls of Minas Morgul, for there lay their lair, though only Aragorn knew rumour of such happenings.  
  
So it was that Aragorn, Chief of the Dúnedain and King Elessar of Gondor, took Faramir, heir of the Stewards and Prince of Ithilien, in his arms as he waded in the bloody waters of Morgul Vale. He passed his hand over Faramir's eyes and closed his lids over the glassy stare. There were tears in Aragorn's eyes as he pulled Faramir out of the water and lay him on the bank of the river upon the dry grass and ghostly white flowers which bloomed there.  
  
He lay his hand upon Faramir's brow and the other on his own heart, closing his eyes as he thought that his friend was dead. But then Faramir's eyelids moved slightly and he opened his eyes upon Aragorn as he knelt beside the Prince in his grief. Faramir parted his lips and spoke with difficulty. "Do not mourn for me yet, my King."  
  
Aragorn opened his eyes and beheld Faramir as he lay, his eyes open once again and a grim smile upon his scratched face. "Faramir," Aragorn whispered. "I feared you were slain."  
  
"Nay, my Lord," Faramir replied, his breathing laboured. "Yet I fear only that I may still die, and die without honour."  
  
"What makes you speak such a thing, brother," asked Aragorn, and a pain was in his heart as he knew not what made Faramir feel so. "You are noble and brave, and the honour of Gondor is with you always."  
  
Faramir smiled once more, tears coming to his eyes as he spoke. "That I am not, my King. No fell beast smote me for I fell upon my own blade. There is no honour in that however you look upon it."  
  
Aragorn eyes glanced at Faramir's wound and saw that the sword Faramir held in his hand was plunged into his side, the keen steel drawing blood still. Aragorn pulled the hilt from Faramir's grasp and pulled the blade from the flesh before laying it on the ground next to them.  
  
"Your blade is broken and the cut is not deep," he said, once again laying his hand upon the brow of his friend. "But, although the athelas plant aids us against our enemies, it cannot heal the cuts of our own metal."  
  
"You think me dishonourable," Faramir said, a grief in his voice which shattered Aragorn's heart.  
  
Aragorn shook his head and then bent over Faramir, kissing his brow. "Do not say that which is not true," he whispered. He drew back and took Faramir's hand, "Your name is one of valour, bravery and honour, and so shall it be noted in the books of lore in the ages to come."  
  
Then he took something from about his neck and lifted it over his head. A light as bright as that of a great star shone from the pendant* that hung a silver chain which Aragorn had worn throughout his journey with the Fellowship. It had been given to him by the daughter of Elrond to keep close to his heart on his perilous quest when she could not be at his side and when he had wedded Arwen Undómiel he had set the necklace upon her neck once again. However, it was the doom of Arwen that she should love Aragorn and she became mortal so that she could remain with him till the end of their days. The Evenstar she had bestowed upon Frodo, the Ring-bearer, so that he may take her place in the Undying Lands if the burden of his memories became to great for him to bear. A long time passed before Frodo felt the need to depart the Shire and pass from Middle-earth to the West, and when he did he left with Master Samwise the Evenstar. When Arwen Undómiel passed with Aragorn sometime later into Eriador, though this was before the time when she had made Elanor the Fair her maid of honour. It was there at the Great Bridge that the Evenstar had been returned to the Queen once again by Master Samwise, and she had worn it upon her breast for the years she had passed in the splendour of Gondor with Aragorn. But once more she had set it around Aragorn's neck when they stood together behind the waters of Henneth Anun on the night of their arrival in Ithilien. It was there that Aragorn had talked with Arwen of what he knew and he had shared with her his deep fears and worries. And so he had again with him the light of the Evenstar. Even then Aragorn had known of the journey which had brought Faramir to such pain.  
  
And there, upon the banks of the river running past Minas Morgul, Aragorn set the Evenstar upon Faramir's breast. "You have the light of the Evenstar with you," Aragorn told him. "Dismiss your fears, for you have with you the beauty and protection of the Queen."  
  
"I cannot take this," Faramir replied, his eyes grave. "The Queen gave this to the King and you shall need it with you on your quest."  
  
Aragorn took Faramir's hand and held it. "The protection of the Queen is with me always, my brother, for she is with me always. We have cleaved ourselves to one another and we are as one, more so when we are apart than when we are together, though my heart still yearns for hers at this hour. Take the Evenstar and her light with you and when we meet once more you may return it to the Queen and she will be glad that you have had it as she loves you as one of her own kin."  
  
Faramir and Aragorn then stayed there, silent, merely looking at one another. And at that moment Faramir knew that the King held him in great esteem, not only as his Prince, but as his friend and brother. Then Aragorn bound Faramir's wound and called for Hasufel and the others. He laid Faramir upon the back of his horse and helped Legolas to mount Hasufel also. Gimli was to ride with them and Aragorn was surer of Hasufel to take this burden than those who rode him.   
  
"Noro lim," Aragorn said to Hasufel. Then he turned to Gimli: "Make straight for Osgiliath. Your journey need not take more than a day if you do not tarry, and when you arrive there demand that the Lord of the City send two companies of men to Minas Tirith, armed with Elven blades, if they can be found, by the orders of the King Elessar. Go at once and may your ride be swift and safe."  
  
And then the King turned to Pippin and asked him whether he intended to stay with him. Pippin nodded and Aragorn accepted him with a nod of his head. And there they stood together, as Man of the North and Hobbit of the Shire watching their friends as they rode upon the grey flash of light that was the horse of the Rohirrim, Hasufel, through the early morning mists to the Cross-roads.  
  
***  
  
  
Pippin was still confused when he tore his glance away from the retreating form of Hasufel. He turned to Aragorn who bent to pick up Faramir's broken sword from the ground. Pippin watched as he carefully put the blade into the sheath of Andúril with one hand as he removed his own sword with the other.   
  
Aragorn then looked to Pippin. "You are still sure of your decision, my dear friend?"  
  
Pippin nodded, for he knew not what he would do if he was not to go with Aragorn in search of Merry and the Elves. "Yes," he replied, "but where do we begin? The situation seems so hopeless."  
  
"Hopeless it may seem, but hopeless it is not," Aragorn said. He started to walk from the banks to the bridge which ran over the dark river. "Follow me with the trust you gave me as we passed out of Moria and I shall lead you as best I can."  
  
"My trust you already have, but my hope is lost," Pippin said, a heavy sense of gloom settling over him as he thought back on the tragic happenings which had assailed their company so far.  
  
Aragorn stopped as they reached the far end of the bridge. He bent down and picked something from the ground. In his hands he held half of Faramir's sword, its broken edge glittering in the hazy light. Aragorn held it and looked Pippin in the eyes. "If you trust me, you should have belief in what I say, and what I tell you with the sincerity of my heart is that there is still hope. Hope for you, hope for Glórien, Glorfindel and Merry above all." Aragorn slipped the fragment he held into the sheath with the hilt of Faramir's sword. He looked back up at Pippin. "There is hope for you all."  
  
Pippin felt a surge of relief from Aragorn's words. "And hope for you as well, Aragorn," he added, with a small smile.   
  
Aragorn stood back up and nodded slowly. "Onen i-estel mellon. Û-chebin estel anim," he breathed and upon his face was set grim resolve.   
  
Either Pippin did not hear him, or he did not understand the Elvish words, for he did not reply. Aragorn did not make further talk of the matter and he strode forward along the path to Minas Morgul, his mind echoing with Gilraen's linnod.  
  
***  
  
They had barely been walking ten minutes when they drew near to the great black walls of Minas Morgul which had been Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon. The city's days of splendour and radiance had since fallen away from its turrets and darkness still penetrated the very stones from which it was hewn. Tall trees grew behind the battlements, their branches forming a canopy such as that of a thatched roof. From between the stones of the towers grew mosses of green and brown. They spread over the stones, devouring the minerals of the blocks beneath them, clinging to any grip they were allowed until they had covered huge expanses of black stone.  
  
Aragorn looked up from the trail he had been following as they approached the great gates of Minas Morgul. They were as tall as those of Minas Tirith, and although they were not as grand, they were terrifying to behold. They were wrought of black iron into crude forms and engraved into the metal were ancient runes which Pippin could not read, though he was sure that if Gandalf were there he could have deciphered their meaning. The gates were not closed fast, and as Aragorn put his shoulder to the dark metal, they swung forward silently, opening onto a great courtyard overgrown by gnarled trees and diseased plants. Pippin followed Aragorn onto the flagstones in front of the Tower of the Moon and looked about him. Overhead, dry and leafless branches stretched to form a ceiling of twigs, but amongst them no birds dwelt. Under their feet were soft mosses which they sunk into with each step as they crossed the paved courtyard. Ahead of them were the Great Arches of Minas Morgul, standing tall and with pride amongst the trees that swamped them.  
  
The Arches lined the path to Minas Morgul. They sprang from the ground and grew as high as the walls enclosing the Tower, meeting in great arches of carefully hewn stone far above their heads. From the black stone dripped mosses and climbing ivies, their creepers twined around the stone pillars with a grip as tight as that of a deadly serpent. As Aragorn and Pippin walked under the Arches to the Tower, they heard no sound. Indeed, inside the walls of Minas Morgul the air was more still and more silent than that of Morgul Vale. Pippin hardly dared to breathe and he let his footsteps fall softly on the moss underfoot for fear of creating a noise that would disturb the peaceless quiet.  
  
It took longer than Pippin had expected for them to reach Minas Morgul. When they approached the great door of the Tower, Aragorn looked up at the great expanse of iron and steel and turned to Pippin.  
  
"You still have time to amend your decision," he said, Andúril gleaming in his hand and the Elfstone pinned upon his breast.  
  
Pippin gulped anxiously and found his throat was dry and his voice hoarse. "I want to go with you; I do not want to turn back."  
  
Aragorn nodded and he looked back to the great doors once again. Level with his breast there was wrought a circle, its edges glowing in the pale light of the dawn. It was a moon and about it there were stars. It was the last surviving sign of the glory of Minas Ithil, as the splendour of the citadel had been consumed by the Nazgul and now all that remained of the Tower of the Moon was an empty shell of darkness and evil. Upon the circle Aragorn placed his right hand and he spoke in a commanding voice with echoed through the great trees and Arches of the courtyard.  
  
"The King Elessar of Gondor has come to Minas Ithil," he said with his hand pressed against the iron. "Grant him passage and let not the darkness prevent his coming."  
  
There Pippin stood in awe as Aragorn removed his hand and the great doors swung upon their hinges, slowly and without noise and when the hobbit looked up again he saw a sight that stole his breath from his lungs.  
  
There it was that Peregrin Took beheld the Halls of Minas Morgul, for in them was not the glory of Gondor of old, but the power of Torech Ungol and the greatness of the ancient creatures of Middle-earth. For there before Aragorn and Pippin lay vast halls and corridors hewn from black stone and the pillars which rose to the roof where taller than the mallorn trees of Lothlórien, being so tall that even when Aragorn looked up he could not see where they ended.  
  
But though the Halls of Minas Morgul were dark as no light permeated the great windows which had been blocked, there was an incandescence in the hallways radiated by a substance which covered the walls and the pillars and the doors of the citadel. For as Aragorn and Pippin stepped forward into the Great Hall they saw about them the shrouds of white silken cords spun by the creatures of Torech Ungol. Pippin beheld what was about them and turned to step back into the courtyard for he was sure that he was walking to his death. Though it was not to be so, for the great doors of Minas Morgul slammed shut and the ghostly light of the cobwebs filled the darkness of the Great Hall.  
  
  
***  
TBC  
***  
  
Chapter Eight - 'The Tower of the Moon'  
  
  
A-ha! I told you Faramir wasn't dead, and he's not the one who's getting the serious hurt/comfort treatment, so keep reading! There's still some twists to come.  
  
Thanks for the nice reviews. I wonder if I have to include a Mary Sue to get more people to read this series - seems to work for everyone else - but I don't mind, you guys are lovely :o)  
  
So, tell me how I'm doing - got any ideas about what's gonna happen/what you'd like to happen. I'd be interested to see which direction you want this to go :o)  
  
Elvish Translations  
===================  
(Again, using my Pidgin Elvish)  
  
'Onen i-estel mellon. Û-chebin estel anim' - I gave hope to friends, I kept no hope for myself (slightly modified version of Gilraen's linnod - though it could work as 'Onen i-*Estel* mellon' as well - aha, something to get you thinking)  
  
'Norod lim' - Ride hard - as always  
  
  
Notes on Lore  
=============  
  
* This refers to the Evenstar necklace which, in Return of the King, Arwen gives to Frodo so that he may pass into the Undying Lands in her place. The Evenstar necklace represents the power, beauty and longevity of Arwen. In the film 'The Fellowship of the Ring', Arwen gives this necklace to Aragorn as a pledge of her love for him. So, here we have a conflict - does Arwen have loads of these necklaces, or what? So, here I have proposed a way of sorting out the problem (though it may not fit in with later movies etc) - though if this does not fit into the Lore of Middle-earth, please tell me.  
  
  
Reviews via ff.net or to annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk (you know you want to make me happy - cos I hope you are all still reading this :o))  
  
*** 


	8. The Tower of the Moon

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Eight: 'The Tower of the Moon'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 SR - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter tells of Pippin and Aragorn's venture into Minas Morgul and the setting out of the Host from Osgiliath.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to dear old Professor Tolkien. However, Gloríen is mine - so I have a right to maim him.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
A/N: Never fear, Mary-Sue is not here. Never (save in insanity) will I Mary-Sue, and I will promise that to you with all my heart :o)  
  
The best twists in the tale are still to come...  
  
  
  
"THE RETURN TO TORECH UNGOL"  
============================  
  
Chapter Seven - 'The Tower of the Moon'  
---------------------------------------  
  
  
All was dark in the Great Hall of Minas Morgul, the ghostly light of the cobwebs shimmering in the darkness. Then, Pippin shielded his eyes, for an ethereal light shone from Aragorn's breast. It was clear and leaf-green and flooded about them as a pool of silver, for the light came from the Elfstone given to Aragorn by Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and its power was greater than the shadow of Minas Morgul.  
  
Very few words were spoken between the King and his friend as they traversed with caution they vast floors of the Halls of the great citadel, and as they walked they looked about them in awe of the terrifying lair of the fell creatures. The smell of the beasts filled the still air about them and it was more potent and vile than they had ever experienced; the stench seemed to reach their senses even when they refrained from breathing through their nostrils and instead drank in the thick air through their mouths.  
  
They kept to the sides of the Hall, staying close to the walls which were now covered in the thick cords the spiders had spun. Every so often a scuttling sound would ring out through the arched spaces of the halls and Pippin would press himself against the wall in fear, only to be adhered by the sticky coils to the wall and needing to be rescued by Aragorn who would slice into the strong fibres with a few stokes from Andúril.  
  
And as they moved slowly, keeping to the shadows with their only light that of the Elfstone, they had chance to look about them. The Halls of Minas Morgul were certainly as great a structure as Pippin had ever seen, as tall as the roof of the Great Hall of Minas Tirith and as wide as the river Anduin. Though the hobbit expected to see at any moment the movement of a dark form amongst the great webs strewn from pillar to pillar in a great canopy over their heads, of the ancient creatures they saw none.  
  
Though they did not know it, they had been walking for a day in the corridors of Minas Morgul, their slowness due to their caution and the fact that every other step they came across sheets of cobwebs which had to be cut through before they could advance. Their feet often became stuck to the webs which covered the stone flags of the floor like a great carpet, and it took time to dislodge themselves from the sticky grasp of the cords before they could move on. After a while they discovered that if they stepped lightly and quickly they were able to move without being trapped, however they were forced to tarry as webs obstructed their path more often than not. However, Pippin was assured that Aragorn was leading them in the right direction; his skills as a Ranger of the North served them well as he was able to pick up the sent or any sign of the path the spiders had taken by merely observing the things around him. Pippin did not question his leadership and he followed behind him, watching the webs around him for any sign of the great creatures.  
  
Hours later Aragorn stopped in front of a great staircase. Its thousands of steps were covered in the same white lustre and they ran up high into the expanses of the hall. About the fine balustrades of the staircase webs were spun and in their grasp were held the carcasses of birds and rabbits which had strayed into the citadel. The hobbit looked past these with a gulp and his eyes followed the steps up and farther up and still he could not see where they ended for they disappeared into the mist of webs spun across the ceiling. Pippin suddenly had a feeling that this must have been a very splendid and grand place in the days of Gondor's glory, and his heart ached to see it laid siege to by the vile threads of the spiders. Aragorn looked up the stairs and peered into the darkness, the light of the Elfstone unfailingly bright and soft on his breast. He then turned and led Pippin to a space under the steps which the spiders had seemed to have not claimed for their own as there were no webs there.  
  
It was here that they talked quietly for a little while and ate a wafer or two of lembas that Pippin had stowed in his pack anticipating hunger when they had departed from Minas Estel. This preparation on the hobbit's account made Aragorn smile for it was one of his fondest memories of his hobbit friends in the days of the Fellowship that they would never miss an opportunity to eat if there was one.  
  
Pippin was halfway through his second mallorn-wrapped piece of Elven waybread when something in the corner of his sight stirred. The lembas fell from his grip and he whispered, the small sound still reverberating off the stone walls about him. "Aragorn," he murmured. "There, behind you."  
  
Aragorn turned about and got to his feet. He looked to where Pippin's gaze was fixed on a wall which was lined with many statues of the Kings of Old, their noble faces smashed by the Nazgul and their robes spun from spiders' silk. The wall was about fifty feet from them under the great staircase which concealed the King and his companion. Aragorn moved forward and he unsheathed Andúril. Pippin fell into step behind him, clutching his own dagger in his hand. As Aragorn reached the wall he could see more clearly the movement which Pippin had sensed.   
  
There, lining the wall, were several bundles of webs, moving slightly as if there were animals captured in the cocoons of strong cord. Aragorn at once rushed over to the wall and set about freeing the victims from their restraints, and Pippin joined him at his side hoping that they had not come too late.  
  
***  
  
  
Meanwhile the sun was setting behind Epthel Dúath, its red light spilling across the dark mountains and cascading over Emyn Arnen and the Anduin before creeping across the Pelannor and throwing Osgiliath and Minas Tirith into a russet dusk. Hasufel was at this time nearing the city of Osgiliath and when he rode down into the newly-built city on the sparkling Anduin bearing Faramir with Legolas and Gimli, the heralds sounded their horns from the battlements and the Captain of the City came forth from the gates.  
  
There it was that Beregond, Captain of Osgiliath and dear friend of Faramir beheld his master, sitting wounded yet conscious on the back of the King's horse.  
  
Beregond dismounted his own steed and came to his master's side. He looked up at Faramir and observed his bloody wound. "My Prince, we received word this morning from Elhirron the Elf-lord of Arda Estel that you had accompanied the King in search of Glorfindel and Legolas. I can see that you succeeded in finding one, but what has befallen you and the King, for he is not with you and you ride his mount."  
  
"Those are questions too many," replied Gimli, jumping to the ground and drawing close to Beregond. "You must take the Lord Faramir and Master Legolas to the Houses of Healing in the city and have the healers tend to them hastily for the Prince is gravely injured and the Elf was taken hostage and stung by one of Shelob's kin."  
  
Beregond's eyes grew wide at the mention of the fell beast. "Then the rumours are true. But what of King Aragorn and Master Peregrin the Hobbit?"  
  
Gimli shook his head with grief. "They stayed in Morgul Vale alone to find the others, for Master Merry was taken too. The King bid me demand of you that you send two companies of men to Minas Morgul at once, and not to tarry, and to arm your men with elven blades, if they can be found."  
  
"The men are easy enough to come by," replied Beregond with a sigh, "for their barracks lie in the city, but elven blades we have few."  
  
"Well then, arm yourselves with them and your own metal and make haste," Gimli replied, seeing Faramir failing against the pains of his wounds. "And get these two to the Houses of Healing."  
  
"I shall see to it at once, Master Gimli, and I shall myself lead the Host of Men to the gates of Minas Morgul," Beregond replied.  
  
The at once the heralds blew their instruments and Hasufel carrying Legolas and Prince Faramir, was led into the walls of Osgiliath, with Gimli and Beregond the Captain of Osgiliath at their side.  
  
***  
  
  
"Merry!" Pippin exclaimed, his voice echoing in the Halls of Minas Morgul. Aragorn shot him a warning glance, and he quietened his tone. He was ecstatic with his relief, for as Aragorn slipped Andúril under the cords spun by the spider who had caught the company off their guard of the way to Cirith Ungol, Pippin had once again seen his friend Merry.   
  
Merry certainly looked very drowsy, and his face was dirtied from the struggle on the road, but when he opened his eyes upon Pippin a smile crossed his lips. "Pip," he murmured, "what spot of trouble did you get us in this time?"  
  
Pippin rushed over and embraced his friend, "Oh Merry, I thought I'd lost you to that awful creature."  
  
"Steady on," Merry replied, loosening himself from Pippin's grip. "My bones are aching, Pip."  
  
Pippin blushed and withdrew slightly, "Oh, I hope I haven't hurt you!"  
  
His friend smiled, "Not much." Then Merry's face became once again sombre and he cast his eyes to the other bundles which Aragorn was seeing to with Andúril. He whispered, his voice dry and hoarse, "Who else is there, Strider?"  
  
Aragorn looked up from the cocoon he was working on and lifted a frail figure from amongst the cords. When his eyes beheld the face of the body he held, a dark look fell upon his face for in the King's arms lay one so resembling the Elf Prince Legolas that Aragorn would have sworn that it was his friend if he had not known otherwise. He put his hand over the mouth of the Elf, but he felt no breath issued from the still lips. He smoothed the golden hair away from the Elf's brow and rested the body upon the floor gently. Aragorn looked to Merry and Pippin who sat together next to the wall. "Tis the Prince Gloríen of Lasgalen," he murmured, his eyes saddened by the sight of the Elf laying as he was without breath, never to pass into the West. "The brother of Legolas and son of Tharundil."  
  
Merry and Pippin looked upon the fair face, still as if in deep sleep, though his eyes were closed and they knew that it could not be so, and their hearts were grieved even though they had never met the Elf Prince because he looked so much like their dear friend.  
  
After a moment of reverence, Aragorn turned back to the other three bundles and he unleashed the captives from their shrouds. As the webs fell away they saw the faces of Glorfindel the Elf-Lord of Imladris and Arda Estel and beside him were two other Elves, their dark hair dulled from their illness. All were alive, though they were weak and drowsy and when they looked about them at the great black halls, their fear and terror grew so much that Aragorn had difficulty subduing them. They had been profoundly affected by the poison of the dark creatures and Aragorn knew that they at once must be taken to Osgiliath were there would be Kingsfoil and the healers in the great Houses could tend to them with great effect. When Aragorn told them of Gloríen's death, they were distraught further still, though once they had been treated with the remaining athelas that Aragorn had brought with him, they were calmed and their temper was once again that of the immortal race who feared no peril and felt no threat. The Elves were extremely weary and soon they fell into a pained but restful slumber and Aragorn with the help of Pippin moved them underneath the safety of the staircase and the King then treated Merry with the remaining athelas and water from a bottle he carried.  
  
"Have something to eat," Pippin said, offering Merry a wafer of lembas.  
  
Merry shook his head and winced as Aragorn pressed a piece of cloth against the large sore on his chest. "No, not right now, Pip."  
  
Pippin looked at Aragorn, "I fear he is desperately ill, Aragorn. He refused food!"  
  
"That worries me deeply," Aragorn replied, managing a slight smile, "but then again, he is injured and I am sure in a while his appetite will return. Do not worry, my friend."  
  
Merry laid back against the floor, minding not to disturb his ribs which ached insufferably, and he whispered: "Thank you."  
  
Aragorn stood and looked down at the two hobbits and pulled Andúril from its sheath. "My friends, I shall leave you now in protection of the Elves. I trust you to take care of them whilst I am gone, for I have business here which must be attended to."  
  
"You are leaving us, here, in the very lair of Shelob!" Pippin cried, then he checked the volume of his voice and looked up at Aragorn with curiosity. "What is the matter?"  
  
"There is something I must see to in the Tower of the Moon," Aragorn took a step backwards out of the shadow and peered up the stairs. "It lies at the top of this staircase behind a great hall. It is a fine chamber where the Kings of Old would sit and watch the moon rise above Gondor and collect their thoughts. But for that reason to there I am not bound."  
  
"Will you be back soon?" Merry asked sleepily. "You will not be gone for days, I hope."  
  
"Nay, not days," Aragorn replied. "But it shall be a while, for my path will be far an long, if the books of lore tell of Minas Ithil justly. Here I must bid you a farewell." He put his hand to his brow and to his lips and looked at his friends, "The Host of Osgiliath will arrive shortly and you must go with them if I am not back before them. Elen síla lúmenn."  
  
With that, Aragorn slipped into the darkness of the hall and behind he left with them the sheath of Andúril which glowed as it was of Elven craft and its soft light filled the air about the hobbits as they sat huddled together, listening to the King's footsteps falling upon the stairs.  
  
***  
  
  
The stars were high in the night sky when the Host set forth from Osgiliath, the standard of the King Elessar of Numenórean blood rippling in the gentle breeze of the summer night. Five hundred men rode out across the river Anduin, their armour glinting in the moonlight and the heads of their steeds raised in glory. At the front of them, leading the companies, was the Captain of Osgiliath, Beregond. He had once been a Guard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith, though as he had disobeyed the Steward of the Ecthelion, Denethor II, he had been thrown out of the guard to serve Prince Faramir in Minas Estel. Over the years he proved himself to be a fine Man and leader and the King Elessar and the Prince had awarded him the title of Captain and he had risen to his station with the best of intentions and had implemented them with honour.  
  
So there it was that Beregond led the Host to Minas Morgul whilst in the Houses of Healing within the walls of the city, Faramir and Legolas were tended to by the wise healers of Osgiliath, with Gimli the Dwarf at their bedside keeping watch of their progress.  
  
***  
  
  
The steps to the Tower of the Moon were wide and endless, and as Aragorn stepped upon them they shifted under his feet as though he trod on thawing ice. Sometimes great chasms opened up in front of him and he was forced to leap across the fissures, taking care that his feet were not caught by the sticky webs that covered the steps with their eerie white gleam.  
  
For hours he climbed, his route taking longer than he had originally thought for the stone was far less stable than would be expected and the webs impeded his movement greatly. As he walked he glanced about him, the light of the Elfstone creating a green haze about his body. Though however bright the stone was, its light did not reach from one side of the staircase to the other and at times Aragorn thought that he could sense the scuttling of creatures a little way beside him.  
  
As he reached the top of the stairs, he was growing weary and he was tired of keeping on his guard so constantly so that with every slight noise he halted and checked about him only to find nothing. At this time the Host was drawing close to Minas Morgul, for they were at the Cross-roads and Beregond led his Men quickly for he knew that they must not tarry for long on their journey.  
  
When Aragorn stepped from the stair he had to slice a path through the many great webs which created a wall of white between the steps and the hall beyond. Andúril made light work of the webs, but he had to cut his way through the cords carefully so as to not let them spring back into his face and cause him injury. There were many layers of webs and when he reached what seemed to be the last sheet of the opaque mesh he carved through the strands quickly and walked into the Hall of the Moon.  
  
However, it was not as he had imagined it from the murals painted in the halls of Minas Tirith, for there it had been depicted in its splendour, with silver pillars and highly polished walls engraved with the cycle of the moon and highlighted with mithril filigree. The only resemblance it had to the paintings was the height of its great roof and the wide expanse of floor laying between the staircase and the door to the Tower of the Moon. Everything was shrouded in the thick webs of the spiders and the Hall resembled more the inside of a vast cocoon than a building of men, for it had been captured by the beasts and now they resided within their webs, waiting to catch any who dared to disturb their peace.  
  
Then Aragorn drew a deep breath and instantly regretted it for the stench was so vile and thick that he was sick with its smell. He then raised his head, for in front of him, at the far end of the Hall was a great mass of blackness and nauseating stench for he had found the Lady of Minas Morgul, Shelob the Great, and about her hanging in their hammocks made of their own webs were thousands of her offspring. Aragorn studied them for a moment and saw that their many eyes were closed to him and in their sleep they did not perceive his presence. He let his breath fall form his lungs and he moved forward to the door which he knew lay behind Shelob. As he walked he was conscious of his need to be silent, for if he made the slightest sound he would wake the nest of spiders and he would surely be slain in an instant.  
  
He hardly dared to breath as he moved, his eyes ever watching for a sign of movement about him, for the sight of the spiders crawling down the pillars to smite him, though this never was the case. Then Aragorn turned his gaze upon Shelob as he approached her, her belly swollen from the years of hunger when all she had to feats upon where the dead carcasses of small fowl that strayed into Torech Ungol. She was still great and terrible and when Aragorn walked over to where she lay in her sleep he was filled with something other than fear, something more like caution though stronger and more terrible. Then he found himself at her side and about him the air was heavier still with the awful smell of her bile and gluttonous desire. Her rough hide spilled over the flagstones in front of him and as he edged around her, Aragorn observed that Shelob was weak and weary from the attack Sam had launched upon her at Torech Ungol when she had stung Frodo. One of her great eyes were black and dead and the other was closed to Aragorn as he passed her.   
  
The door to the Tower was within his sight and he drew another breath and peered around the Hall in the glow of the Elfstone, so sure that his passage without consequence was too easily allowed for it to be successful. However, as Aragorn stepped over to the door, there was perfect stillness about him. The great door of the Tower was locked in the same way as that of the Great Hall and the symbol of the rising moon glowed with the light of mithril as he looked upon it. The door was the only structure in the Hall of the Moon not to be blanketed with the webs of the spiders and he thought it not strange as Aragorn knew what lay beyond the door in the high chamber and he knew also what Shelob defended, even in her weakness as she made her lair in the great hall.  
  
Aragorn placed his hand upon the moon, saying under his breath the words he had said earlier to gain admittance to the citadel. However, the doors did not open. He wished not to speak any louder for he knew with his next breath he might wake the sleeping monster that lay only a few feet away from him. He placed his hand upon the circle again and with the other grasped the hilt of his Elven blade and he spoke with greater force: "The King Elessar of Gondor has come to The Tower of the Moon. Let him enter and face his challenge."  
  
As he spoke the words a great scuttling arose from the Hall and thousands of shining eyes filled the space with light. His heart fell and he turned about, gripping his sword, whit-knuckled. There was a groan as the dark mass of old hide that was Shelob rose from her resting place and turned on Aragorn. He stared into her mirror like eye and saw behind her thousands of spiders falling down from their beds in a tide of black and brown and gathering around their mother. Shelob moved slowly but she was still mobile and in a moment she had reached the King even as the doors behind him swung open. Aragorn brought the blade of Andúril down from a great height and plunged the blade into her only remaining eye, her green-yellow blood spurting forth from the wound and her body reeling from the pain. Shelob's children ran forward at him, their stings raised upwards ready to strike him down. Aragorn ran through the doorway into the great Chamber of the Tower of the Moon and he slammed the doors behind him, pressing against their weight with his shoulders just as the great beasts climbed over Shelob to attack him.  
  
Aragorn breathed heavily and could feel behind the doors, the angry and fearful scratching of the spiders' claws against the heavy metal. He looked about him and he gripped Andúril tighter as he saw in front of him a great shadow. The shadow was taller than himself, for it was not a Man of Gondor, but it was a Man, however, clothed in dark armour and a cloak of black and it stood behind a stand on which there stood one of the palantír, glowing with a ghostly light.   
  
"The King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Dúnedan, Chieftain of the Rangers of the North and rightful Lord of Minas Ithil, Tirith and Estel, has come to face your challenge and be rid of you for there is no place for you in this realm," Aragorn said, his voice strong and his eyes cool and fixed.  
  
The figure stepped forth and spoke in a guttural tongue which none now spoke for it was a Morgul tongue used by Sauron and his kind. "I am the Lord of Minas Morgul," it said, and Aragorn understood for Gandalf had schooled him in such matters. "You should not expect victory to come to you with such ease."  
  
And then light from the moon shone forth through the windows and fell upon one of the Kings of Angmar, and Aragorn beheld his doom, for the wraith had taken siege of Minas Morgul after he retreated to its shadows when the other eight Nazgul had been defeated, and he had grown in strength. He was one of the lesser Ring-Wraiths, but his power was still strong and he had challenged Aragorn, and the King had come, though he came not with not the same intent as Eärnur.  
  
***  
TBC  
***  
  
Chapter Nine - 'The Lord and Lady of Minas Morgul'  
  
  
Told you there'd be a twist - now you have to go back and spot how much foreshadowing I included in the earlier chapters! More explanation of this situation in Chp 9 - so don't be all confused right now!  
  
Sorry if the final two parts come slowly - they're all planned out, but I don't have much time to type it all out from my head (school starts again tomorrow).  
  
Language Notes  
============  
Elen síla lúmenn - a star shines on us  
  
Anyway, what do you think. Click the nice little button below and make it feel happy.  
  
annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
*** 


	9. The Lord & Lady of Minas Morgul

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Nine: 'The Lord and Lady of Minas Morgul'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 SR - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter tells of the arrival of the host of Osgiliath in Morgul Vale and the meeting of Daebeleg and Elessar.  
  
Notes on Lore: It might be useful to reacquaint yourselves with the Appendices relating to the line of Númenor in order to fully understand this story, though it is by no means vital to enjoy it!  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to dear old Professor Tolkien. However, I have fiddled with his mythology slightly to serve my plot - and this has brought Daebeleg (literally Mighty Shadow in Sindarin) the remaining Wraith into being.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
A/N: Well, I have been away from fanfiction for around about 6 months now, and I thought that I might as well use my time off from school to finish this series. After watching LotR again, and nearly finishing the Silmarillion, I got interested in the story again, and so here it is, written in high spirits after the collection of my 4 A grades at AS Level - and the fact that I'm getting a letter published about fanfiction in The Sunday Times' Culture supplement next week. Could life get better - yeah, if I had my own Legolas and Aragorn, perhaps.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER IX - 'THE LORD AND LADY OF MINAS MORGUL'  
================================================  
  
  
  
The sky was as black as ink when the host of the Captain of Osgiliath came through the Epthel Duath on broken road leading to Minas Morgul with Gimli the Dwarf sat behind him. The men clad in bright armour gazed upon the fallen citadel with such an overwhelming fascination that their steeds even seemed to pause on the crest of the hill overlooking the tower. The eyes of the men and horses were widened with dread as they perceived the evil that permeated from the stone of the place which had been the abode of the fell Nazgul for many an era.   
  
Stayed even was the steed of Beregond; the nostrils of the horse flared under the influence of the foul stench that emanated from every organism and mineral formation in the valley. Beregond blinked against the stinging air and bit back a wave of nausea as he opened his mouth to command the host.  
  
"Onward!" He cried, raising the standard of Númenor high above his head. "Gondor fears not the remnants of Sauron's evil devices. Let the light of the White Tree go with us as we ride."  
  
As he spoke, a roar rose forth from the company as it raised forth banners and spears before resuming a charge down the valley. The heralds brought forth a clear sound that reverberated against the thick air and the stones in the dark valley seemed to quake beneath the might of Gondor.  
  
***  
  
"What is that sound?" Merry wondered, raising his head wearily. "I am beginning to feel most uncomfortable here, Pip. These spiders' webs seem to vibrate- from what, I do not know."  
  
Pippin, though, had clambered to his feet and a wide smile came across his face as the noise echoed again through the luminous webbed halls. "Do not worry, Merry... I feel it too, it makes the stones of this dreadful place ring beneath our feet because that is the sound of the approach of Gondor."  
  
Merry raised a small smile despite the pain his wounds were causing him. "We are saved then, surely?"  
  
Pippin was about to reply when a shrill, terrible ring broke forth from above their heads, the sound piercing the air around them, making their ears sting. "What concerns me most is where Strider is... he has been gone for such a long time, and that sound has struck more fear into my heart than the sound of the host of Gondor can compensate for."  
  
Glorfindel was sitting up; his ears pricked to the sound that still rang through the webbed halls of Minas Morgul. Calmly he turned to the hobbits, "That is the sound of one of the wraiths, and if I did not know of the Fall of Sauron, I would have no doubts, but as it is it seems impossible that we should hear such a thing. And it is doubtful that my ears should deceive me."  
  
Pippin glanced up at the Elf-Lord; his fair face troubled by the pain his shoulder. "What should we do?"  
  
"Rest here and conceal ourselves as best we can," Glorfindel replied, "for I cannot foresee what shall take place in these dreaded chambers."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Aragorn stood a still as the stone statues of the kings of old, the Elfstone shining with great force from his breast as he held the gaze of the last of the Kings of Angmar. The Wraith had no face and was clad solely in armour and a cape, with a tarnished coronet hovering above his head, for this was Daebeleg, as he was to be called in the tales told afterward of the King Elessar, for his stature was mighty and his presence was no more than a shadow, though a shadow of such vacuous depth of black that in it none could perceive any hope.  
  
The gaze of King Elessar moved to rest on a sphere of polished back crystal, a fire lit in its depths which produced the only light in the chamber, save that of the penetrating light of the Elfstone. "Why do you retain this palantír and claim ownership over that which is no more," Aragorn demanded in the high Elven tongue of Quenya. "Your master is destroyed, your ring has been destroyed and yet your evil spirit gathers here once more, without the leave of Minas Ithil's rightful Lord."  
  
Daebeleg stood, his overwhelming darkness filling the chamber as a thick fog. Aragorn tightened his grip on Andúril and raised his voice, at once feeling any fear slip away from his consciousness as he knew his doom. "You have no power, except that which you gather from the corrupted stones of this pitiful place and the shadow brought upon this vale by the memory of the Nazgul and Ungoliant. How you can presume to demand my presence using a Seeing Stone of the Númenor which you deceived is unthinkable folly, for I have the Light of the Elfstone of the Eldar, for that is why I am Elessar, and with me comes the grace and love of Undómiel, fairest child of Lúthien and Beren who conquered Melkor, and in my hand I hold Narsil reforged as the Flame of the West, the Sword that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. Do not presume that victory will come to you, for you are no more than a shadow."  
  
With that, Daebeleg drew forth his sword and plunged it into Aragorn's chest. The Morgul bade glanced off the Elfstone as its light shone forth from Aragorn's breast so penetrating that the shadow of Daebeleg seemed to be less dark and foreboding. Aragorn parried the blade away with Andúril; the reforged blade gleaming like the Great River as it sliced through the thick air. Then with one swift movement the lost king of Angmar struck his blade against that of Narsil reforged and the sword left Aragorn's hand landing with a sound as heavy as that of a mill stone hitting the ground. Disarmed, Aragorn drew a knife from his boot as the Morgul blade brandished by Daebeleg was thrust to his heart. The Elven knife that Aragorn defended himself with was not of the lineage of Andúril and though it had the power of the Eldar in its forgery, it was sliced through by the dark metal of the wraith as though it were mere steel.   
  
A deep laugh issued forth from the shadows as Aragorn was pushed off his feet and onto his back. His arm groped behind him for Andúril, but he found nothing more than stinging webs that seemed to wrap around his wrists as he made greater efforts to disentangle himself.  
  
"It is unwise for someone so young to think himself as having so much power," Daebeleg hissed in the Black Tongue as he stood over the King of Gondor who struggled against the binds on his left wrist.  
  
"And equally it is unwise for those who had ill-gotten power to try retain it once their age has passed," replied Aragorn, his eyes steady and cool. "I came to rid the halls of Minas Ithil from the darkness of Melkor's spawn and to make peaceful my Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, and I intend to do so as it is my doom."  
  
Then Aragorn felt the coolness of metal cross his palm, like a handful of snow on a heated brow, and his hand closed around the hilt of Andúril, not questioning how it had come into his hand. Aragorn reached back and freed his wrist from its webbed trap, then, plunging the glittering blade between the plates of armour on the wraith's leg, he sprung to his feet as Daebeleg stumbled into the corner of the chamber, light shining forth from his shadowy wound.  
  
Aragorn stood breathing heavily as he held his sword in front of his chest, staring down its blade. The faint sound of struggle floated through the closed doors as if it were a memory of a song long forgotten. The cadences of the attack raised a wave of hope in Aragorn's heart and he regained his breath.  
  
"'Tis no longer your age, Shadow Wraith," said Aragorn, each word measured and heavy with doom. "The Host of Gondor comes forth and Andúril's light penetrates your darkness."  
  
If Daebeleg heard his words, he did not take heed of the King's words, and his blade came forth in renewed attack, though his shadowy darkness waned.  
  
***  
  
  
The Host charged through the forgotten courtyards of Minas Ithil, under the stone arches strangled by wild bindweed, and to the great doors of the citadel. There they halted and Beregond dismounted, holding the standard of Númenor high above his head. Gimli came forth with him, his axe held tight in his hands. The rest of the company leapt from their horses before advancing to the doors.   
  
Beregond approached the door and placed his hand upon it, crying: "Open for the Host of Osgiliath, for the King is in these Halls and we come to his aid."  
  
And then the doors swung forth with a whisper of black iron, revealing to the Host the great Halls, glowing with the eerie light of the webs, whilst also being of the darkest black as the silk absorbed the light from around them.  
  
And there it was that Beregond lead the first Host of Osgiliath of the New Age into the Citadel of Ithilien which none had stepped in for many a year, save the King himself, and about them they heard the scuttling of Shelob's kin as they advanced deeper into the dark Halls of Minas Morgul.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sound of the Hosts feet beat a rhythm of unrelenting attack across the webbed flagstones of the Halls. They were running, their plated armour crashing as they moved quickly into the depths of the Citadel. And their heralds sounded forth their trumpets, the clear sound filling the webbed spaces about the Host.  
  
"They're here," Pippin cried. "The Heralds of the Host of Gondor, it is they!"  
  
Pippin left the place under the stairs where they hid and ran to the foot of the stairs, being wary not to let his feet become tangled in the webs that carpeted the great Halls.  
  
And before him Pippin beheld the Host of Gondor, in the full splendour of the New Ages, their helms glimmering in the dull light of the Halls, and all the Elven arms they could muster were held before them as they approached the Great Stair of Minas Ithil.   
  
"Hail, Beregond!" Pippin cried, coming to meet the great Men, his eyes weary for resting without sleep for many a day in the cursed chambers of Minas Morgul. "And Gimli, too!"  
  
"Halt!" came Beregond's answer and the Host came to a standstill, their breath heavy and their swords keen.  
  
Gimli, seeing his friend, rushed forth with incredible speed and met Pippin at the foot of the Stair.  
  
Beregond stepped forth and Pippin came to kneel at his Captain's feet. "Master Peregrin, rise," Beregond said, his breath coming fast from his exertion. "'Tis a day of doom on which we meet, and already I have seen your company attacked and the Elf-Prince Legolas and the Prince of Ithilien, Faramir son of Denethor, come to Osgiliath with wounds not easily healed."  
  
Pippin got to his feet and waved to where the others rested in the shadows of the Stair. "Our expedition did not fail, though, my Captain, as here are Meriadoc my kinsman and Glorfindel, Elf-Lord of Aman Estel and Imladris, though they too are in need of the attention of the Healers of Osgiliath."  
  
Beregond followed Pippin to where the wounded sat in the shadows, next to the corpse of Gloríen and Pippin could see Gimli look grieved at the sight of the fair son of Thandúril, King of Mirkwood, for even in death he seemed to be the very vision of his brother in rest.  
  
"The Healing Houses may be of little use to your friends, Pippin," Beregond replied, inspecting Merry's wound. "The King himself has the healing hands needed for these wounds, though the Queen herself has set out for Osgiliath to practice her Elven healing. With her Lady Éowyn rides to Prince Faramir, but to what end I cannot tell. However, I fear that although they ride swiftly, the Queen may not be able to heal all who are brought wounded from this battle, as many of Shelob's kind dwell here in the darkness."  
  
"What shall you do?" Pippin asked, a look of fear upon his face.  
  
"I shall lead the Host to the Tower of the Moon, where Arwen sent message to Faramir that Aragorn was bound to face his doom... what that was I do not know, but of Shelob's children we have heard much lately and we shall advance up the stair to the despair of that vile creature," Beregond replied, his helm shining brightly with a brilliant light. "You shall take my horse and go with the wounded back to the Healing Houses of Osgiliath with Gimli the Dwarf, and with the first Lieutenants of the Host Nolberen and Tholruin. Do not tarry, nor look back, for it is no longer safe for you here; we have awoken the evil that sleeps in these halls to the destruction of us all if we do not show courage and valour befitting of the Hosts of Gondor of Old."  
  
Pippin protested: "But my place it here; I must aid my master."  
  
Beregond shook his head; "You have been of much help already, beyond your calling in fact. Now head for Osgiliath, and take it as your duty to make sure the wounded are swiftly returned to Osgiliath and that Gloríen the Elf-Prince is laid in state in the King's chamber."  
  
The Hobbit nodded, knowing that great responsibility had been put upon him, and when Nolberen and Tholruin had come to carry the wounded, Gimli and Pippin lifted up Gloríen and headed quickly for the courtyard by the ways Aragorn had been too cautious to take in their way to the stair.  
  
Turning to see behind them, Pippin saw the Host of Osgiliath start up the great stair, their Elven blades given to them by the Elves departed into the West glittering as they sliced the deadly webs from their path, the whipping of the strands not penetrating their armour as they advanced to the Hall of the Moon where Shelob lay in wait, at her spies' foretelling of the Host's approach.   
  
  
***  
  
  
Andúril gleamed as the light of the Two Trees of Valinor as it was wielded by Aragorn, son of Arathorn, thirty-ninth heir of Elendil. Daebeleg strove in vain to sink his deadly steel into the flesh of the King of Gondor. However, the green light of the Elf-stone and the white brilliance of the Star of Númenor cloaked Aragorn with a brilliance that not even the Shadow of the Nazgul could penetrate, and Daebeleg grew weary, and as he did so, Aragorn caught him off his guard. Knocking the wraith to the floor, Aragorn strode over to the dark presence and settled the tip of Andúril between Daebeleg's armour and helm, where a neck should have been.  
  
"You cannot kill me," Daebeleg rasped, his sword broken beneath him. "I am already a wraith, dead though my shadow shall linger always in these lands."  
  
Aragorn looked upon the Fallen King with great pity for many tales of woe were written about the Fall of the Nine. But pity would not stay his hand nor his tongue. "You only exist whilst you are remembered and feared," Aragorn then plunged the blade of Andúril deep into the shadows of Daebeleg with great force, and light shone on King Elessar's face and those who would have seen him would have thought him terrible and fell, yet valiant and noble. And the Great King Elessar cried: "I forget you, pitiful creature of Sauron's corruption. You hold no sway over me, nor any memory."  
  
A great ringing noise echoed about the chamber and the Shadow seemed to depart from the shell of black armour, but in the last moment of Daebeleg's furious presence, he struck his broken sword into Aragorn's side, and even as King Elessar fell back to the ground, the shadow of Daebeleg the Tormented dissipated into the thick air never to come forth again.  
  
Breathing heavily, Aragorn collapsed against the cold stone pillar on which sat the last Palantír, Andúril falling from his grasped as he touched the wound carefully. His own hand could not heal the cut of a Morgul blade. And there it was that the full weight of his doom came to rest fully upon Aragorn as he felt the last traces of life fall away from his grasp, for the power of the dark blade had not diminished until Daebeleg had been fully defeated, and the call of Mandos was too powerful to resist. "Namarië Undómiel," he whispered and he was stricken with a dark despair not even he could withstand.  
  
  
***   
TBC in the final instalment: Chapter Ten - 'The Flight to Minas Estel'  
***  
  
N/B: Sorry this took so long, but there is still a big twist in the tale, so keep reading, I have time to write so the next wait should be much shorter. I hope you're all going to enjoy all the tonnes of angst and h/c in the next instalment as it is my favourite ground!  
  
Language Notes  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
'Namarië Undómiel' - 'Farewell Evenstar'  
  
Daebeleg - Mighty Shadow  
  
  
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Feedback greatly appreciated via ff.net or to annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
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	10. The Flight to Minas Estel

Title: 'The Return to Torech Ungol'  
Chapter Nine: 'The Flight to Minas Estel'  
Author: Anna Rousseau   
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings  
Genre: Adventure/Drama  
Rating: PG  
Set: 1426 SR - six years after the fall of Sauron  
Summary: The Shadow has passed, but great and terrible things existed before the Dark Lord, and now they outlive him even in the New Age of King Elessar. This chapter tells of the darkest hours of the New Age when King Elessar is close to untimely death after his slaying of Daebeleg and his friends Faramir, Merry and Legolas are stricken by Shelob's poison. Concluding chapter.  
  
Notes on Lore: It might be useful to reacquaint yourselves with the Appendices relating to the line of Númenor in order to fully understand this story, though it is by no means vital to enjoy it!  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to dear old Professor Tolkien. Though I have slightly adapted the lore of the great Prof. in order to serve my story.  
  
Middle-earth Disclaimer: The story is set after Book Six: The End of the Third Age. It complies with the history of Middle-earth, as is accurate with dates and places and events and so forth, though the adventure told in this story was never chronicled in the Red Book nor other books of lore of Gondor.   
  
A/N: After starting this story in February, it is finally at a close and I have finished the Silmarillion - double hurrah. I just hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I relished writing this tale. I hope the angst and h/c fulfils some of your wishes!  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER X - 'THE FLIGHT TO MINAS ESTEL'  
======================================  
  
When the Host of Osgiliath reached the summit of the Great Stair they beheld the Hall of the Moon not as a place of great splendour as it had been constructed in the days of Elendil, but as a place of unknown terror as the great webs of Shelob's kin seemed to catch even the dark shadows with their thick silk. And as the company advanced, the heralds calling forth the enemy to a challenge, thousands of dark forms crept from their hammocks, their potent stench being more vile than the foulest decaying corpse.  
  
And there it was that Beregond lifted forth his spear as had Gil-galad in days of old and thousands of Elven swords were raised by the men of Gondor. They charged forth and the cry of 'Elessar' could be heard throughout the dark citadel as Elven blade met with shadowed flesh and the Men fought with valour equal to that of the Dúnedain on that day of which so many tales were told in Middle-earth and in Valinor for the history of Estel Elessar and Arwen Undómiel was one the Eldar held as close to their hearts as that of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Erchamion.  
  
In that hall many of the great spiders of Melkor's creation were slain by the terrible might of Gondor, though Men also fell amongst the injured and the day was remembered as 'Daerist' the Shadow Breaking, an event remembered with profound melancholy.  
  
And it was upon that day that Beregond, Captain of Osgiliath and leader of that terrible host, slew Shelob of Ungoliant's descent, his elven blade being Orcrist of Thorin given to King Elessar by the Dwarves on his coronation to mark renewed friendship between the two races. And Orcrist glittered as mithril as it cleaved through the limbs and hard skin of Shelob, and it made a fearsome sound as Beregond wielded the weapon of Gondolin. With a final blow Beregond thrust the sword into Shelob's heart from where he stood under her great body and a shrill shriek filled the Hall as she collapsed on top of him, Beregond only just escaping the crushing pressure of her carcass. Then it was said that the spiders gave up struggle as their mother was slain and many of their kin were dead at the hands of the might of Gondor, and the creatures fled from Minas Ithil seeking the dark caverns of Ephel Duath and Cirith Ungol, their dark shadows never to be seen again in the realm of King Elessar.  
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
The dying cry of Shelob was so fell it roused even Aragorn from his deathly slumber and his eyes opened to see a faint figure in front of him. The King tried to pull himself to his feet, but the effort was too great and he fell back against the plinth on which stood the palantír of Minas Ithil, his head ringing with a terrible pain.  
  
"Mae govannen i Minas Morgul," said the figure and as Aragorn's eyes became more focused he beheld a tall Man, though his back was bent and his hair grey and his skin showing the creases of the final days of life. Even as Aragorn looked at the Man he seemed to age, his hair becoming white and his bones weakening before his body.  
  
"'Tis not Minas Morgul, my liege. This is Minas Ithil of Gondor and Arnor and I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, King Elessar they call me." And Aragorn swallowed and closed his eyes for the effort of speech was as much as was needed to drain him of the last of his energy.  
  
"Well so be it," replied the Man in Common Speech. "Though many years have passed if Gondor has given up on its King, and of Aragorn son of Arathorn I do not know if he be of Númenorean descent."  
  
Aragorn frowned, thinking that the apparition was no more than an imagining of his poisoned mind, "Gondor having given up on its King? What do you mean by these words?"  
  
The Man raised his head and a regal light seemed to shine dimly about his head as a coronet. "I am named King Eärnur, King of Gondor and heir of Elendil born of the Númenorean kings in the line of Beren and Lúthien. I came to challenge the Lord of the Kings of Angmar and have been imprisoned in these walls for how many years I do not know."  
  
"King Eärnur," Aragorn breathed at the name of legend and he felt his mind become weary again. "Yet, you came to face your challenge in the year 2050 of the Third... Age, and it is now the Fourth Age and hundreds... of years have... passed."  
  
"Hundreds of years?" Eärnur replied, and to Aragorn it seemed as if some spark of hope in his eyes vanished. "Yet, I am still alive and the Kings of Númenor may live many years more than those of Middle-earth, though I feel I am existing past my time. Tell me, what has passed since my reign."  
  
So it was that Eärnur had been preserved in the bloom of youth for many a century by the evil of the lesser rings of the Fallen Kings in their abode of Minas Estel. But now their terrible power had diminished with the slaying of Daebeleg and the defeat of the residual evil of Sauron. And now the King was to fade with them as only a memory of a distant age.  
  
Aragorn gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain swept through his bones, his breathing laboured and speech broken. "That I cannot... explain at this time as it is a long... and grim tale, yet now the evil of Mordor has been... defeated... as has the Ring... of Power which governed the rings of the Nazgul."  
  
"Then my time has passed," said Eärnur, the weight of his doom resting finally upon him. "I shall lay down here to rest in the place that was both my palace and my prison, and I shall let my final breath escape my mouth."  
  
Aragorn shook his head, biting back the pangs of his pain. "No, you shall return... to Minas Anor and lay down in the Silent Street alongside... the Kings of your age, if ever I live to order it done so. I... have the hands of a healer, but alas, I cannot cure your malady, nor my own, my forefather."  
  
King Eärnur then sat knelt before Aragorn and placed his hand upon the other's brow the hand of the old King as cold as the crystal of a Palantír. The King looked into the eyes of his descendant and knew that in Elessar the fate of Gondor was secure and that it was his time to leave the confines of the circles of the world for the place that no man returned from.  
  
"I bestow upon you the last power of my long life, with the hope that you shall return to the White Tower and continue the line of Elendil and Númenor," and with that Aragorn felt a heat fill his shoulder as Eärnur placed his palm against the wound and the pain left his bones as the King of old fell back to the floor, his eyes closed in death.  
  
Aragorn lay there for a moment, in awe of what had passed, his breath heavy and his mind tired by lack of sleep. Then he leant forward, the last energy of the King's life filling him, and he folded Eärnur's arms across his chest as if he were lying in state rather than in the dark chamber of Minas Morgul. Aragorn fell back on his heels and put his fingers to his brow and then his lips in the signal of farewell. "Rest peacefully, king of Gondor," he whispered.  
  
Then the door to the Chamber flew open and Beregond, the King's captain strode forth, his spear broken in two, yet his eyes still keen and his sword sharp and behind him was the corpse of Shelob and a great stench poured through the doors with enough potency to make Aragorn reel back onto his heels in his attempt to stand.  
  
"King Elessar!" Beregond cried, coming forward with his face etched with concern as he saw the deathly look on the King's face. "You are injured."  
  
Aragorn nodded as Beregond helped him to his feet. "I must ride back to Minas Estel immediately for the Queen is the only one West of Valinor who has the knowledge to heal my illness."  
  
"She has set out from there bound for Osgiliath, though I am sure I can dispatch a rider to meet her and turn back before we arrive there," Beregond replied, letting the King rest on him heavily.   
  
Aragorn nodded and put his fingers to his lips in a whistle. He then turned to glance at Eärnur, the white hair of the old king glistening in the dim light of the tower. "This is the body of King Eärnur of the Third Age. Please find men to bear him back to Minas Arnor where he is to be laid with his forefathers. And take also with you the Ithil-stone, which will be placed in Osgiliath in my chamber, though no one save me must ever look in it. Heed my words as these are objects of great power," Aragorn warned.  
  
Beregond nodded, "As you wish."  
  
"Sauron was rumoured to have captured the Ithil stone for his own devices, and for the palantír to have been buried in the unmaking of Barad-dur, so how it came here once more I cannot fathom. Of one thing I am sure, it must not be left without guard in this desolate place," said Aragorn, taking up his sword, Andúril, from the floor.  
  
And behind them came the sound of hooves on cold stone as Hasufel, answering to his master's call, came to the door of the Chamber of the Moon with strides as swift as those of Shadowfax. Aragorn mounted the horse with difficulty and closed his eyes for a moment; the pain in his should coming forth as a relentless tide of enemy armies. "You have won in battle today, Beregond my Captain," Aragorn said.  
  
"Yes, though men have been killed, we have driven the shadow back from the citadel," replied Beregond.  
  
Aragorn nodded and started to set off through the Hall, "See to it they are buried with ceremony and that a guard is set up outside the walls of Minas Ithil until I pass judgement on what shall be done here."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
And there it was that Aragorn son of Arathorn, King Elessar of his realm, rode forth from the ruined lair of Shelob for the citadel of Minas Estel, Andúril at his side, its blade quenched in the last Shadows of Mordor.   
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"Elbereth!" Legolas swore as the wise woman of the Healing Houses placed a poultice on his wound, the searing pain of the herbs cutting through that of his injury. About him was the scent of herb infusions and maidens and healers tended to the sick as they lay on beds of feather mattresses in the large and airy chambers of the Healing Houses.  
  
"The pain will subdue," the wise woman said, wrapping bandaging around the Elf's shoulder and side.  
  
"Elves!" commented Faramir weakly as a Healer tended to his wound. "They cannot withstand the pain of even the smallest wound."  
  
"You know you speak untruthfully, mortal, so I shall not take up my bow and slay you here and now for speaking ill of my kindred. Anyway, 'tis not my fault that I was attacked by one of Ungoliant's kin, though you merely brought that wound upon yourself by your own hand," the Elf bantered in good jest.  
  
"Thy tongue and wit are sharp, as I have learned is my sword. Keen it is and terribly irksome when fallen on," Faramir replied with equal good humour. A maiden came forth and wiped the Prince of Ithilien's brow, "How long till the fair Lady of Minas Estel arrives here, my lady."  
  
"The heralds say that she is not far from approaching the river, though the Queen has turned back to meet the King who is grievously wounded, say they, my lord" the maiden said, a sadness in her eyes for telling of the unwelcome tidings.  
  
"And the Host, did they fare well?" asked Legolas, anxious for more news of Minas Morgul.  
  
"That I do not know of, sir," said she, "though Gimli the Dwarf has arrived with the Periannath."  
  
And at that moment the door opened to their chamber and in came Pippin and Gimli, and behind them were six men, each carrying a large weight.   
  
"Why, 'tis Merry, Pippin and Glorfindel the Elf-Lord," Faramir exclaimed, though his body was racked with the pain of his injuries and it hurt him much to speak. "Have you met Lady Éowyn on your travels, my friends?"  
  
"I heard tidings that she was halfway here from Aman Estel from a handmaiden," Pippin replied, "I am sure she will be with you shortly, my lord."  
  
The Legolas fell silent as he beheld Gloríen, his brother being laid on a bed beside him. The wise woman helped the Elf to stand and approach the still image of himself, as they were both Princes of Mirkwood and looked as twins. Legolas gazed upon his brother, his face still serene and fair yet no breath issued from his still lips, and yet for his experience of war and death he could not comprehend his loss.   
  
Pippin fell silent and looked upon Legolas with a great sadness. He stepped forward and touched the Elf's forearm gently.  
  
Legolas could not tear his eyes from the prostrate form in front of him; still in death as in sleep. "He will never see the Land of the Valar," he breathed, his eyes pained and words strained from his grief and illness. "He has slipped from the Circles of the World never to return to the West, and for that I grieve most profoundly, Pippin."  
  
And a tear rolled down the Hobbit's cheek at the Elf's words.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Night fell heavily that night on the Healing Houses of Osgiliath as Legolas the Elf mourned for his brother and in Arda Estel the Elves sang songs of loss and reflection so haunting and ethereal that to any ear apart from that of the Eldar it would be incomprehensible, as none save the First Born remembered Valinor and the pain of its loss when an immortal was slain, never to return there.  
  
It was on this dark night that the stars shone with less light than the night before as Aragorn rode upon Hasufel along the river to Minas Estel, his body pierced by the pain of Daebeleg's final blow, and his heart only kept alive by the last strains of Eärnur's living breath and the Elven power of the Elfstone that shone in a verdant light on his breast.  
  
"Noro lim," he urged his horse of the Rohirrim, for though Hasufel bore him at double the pace of a journey which required less haste, the speed was not great enough yet to reach Minas Estel before dawn. Upon Aragorn rested the darkness of the fear that a longer journey might take his life, as he had foreseen in the Palantír so many days ago.  
  
Then it was that from his side there was the sound of a horse whinnying and a flash of brilliant white caught the side of his eye and it sounded as if a rider that had passed him doubled back to ride alongside the King.  
  
"Estel!" came a cry from his right side and Aragorn's heart beat with renewed force for hearing his name upon the lips of his beloved.  
  
Hasufel fell out of a gallop and came to a steady trot alongside Asfaloth whose bright mane shone in the light of the waning moon. The Queen rode on him in a mantle of sea blue, stars bound about her brow that seemed to outshine those of Varda.   
  
"Arwen, mornie utúlië," Aragorn murmured as he took the hand she stretched out to him, his head filled with the darkness he told of. "I have failed thee and our people, for the last of the Nazgul, though defeated, hath struck me with a device of Sauron's forgery-"  
  
"Be still, Aragorn, and explain not to me thy actions for I have heard the news and thou must be born swiftly back to Minas Estel for only there are the provisions I have for thy healing," said Arwen and she whistled bringing both horses to a halt. She dismounted and drew herbs from her saddlebag, coming to Aragorn's side to press them against the wound after he two came down from his stallion.  
  
Aragorn carefully came down from his saddle, though he slipped as his feet touched the ground, his wife only narrowly catching his fall.  
  
He looked into her eyes and saw a fear and sorrow in them that he had never seen before, "Of this fate I foresaw, Arwen," he whispered, "yet, I did not wish it to be, thy heart knowst."  
  
"At Henneth Annun thou didst tell me of thy challenge, and it was bravely and justly accepted," Arwen replied, lifting his head with the tips of her fingers and laying her palm on his cheek. "Do not speak of regret, my heart."  
  
Aragorn gazed upon her and held her hand tightly. "We must ride on before dawn."  
  
The Queen nodded and helped him onto Asfaloth. "Hold on to me as we ride," Arwen said to her husband as she mounted the horse in front of him. "Asfaloth is as swift as Shadowfax and will grant us a calm ride to Arda Estel."  
  
Aragorn whistled to Hasufel to follow and then they set out once more for Minas Estel, Arwen's hands on the reigns as Aragorn held her tightly about the waist whilst the dark night deepened and the pain in his shoulder worsened, though all the time he struggled to remain conscious.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
With a dull thud the doors of Minas Ithil swung to, the vibrations of the noise sending loose masonry tumbling into the court yard where the Host of Osgiliath were mounted on their steeds in the early morning, their eyes searching out the last of the spiders that scuttled through the forests of Ephel Dúath to their dark abodes.   
  
Beregond set a company of guards about the perimeter of the citadel to guard its walls until instruction from the King, and he himself bore the body of Eärnur to his horse whilst other soldiers carried out the dead and set them on the stone floor of the court yard with a guard about them, ready to be taken back to Osgiliath to be buried by the river Andean.   
  
Two lieutenants of his army came forth; their arms weighed down by a large spherical object covered in thick cloth. "What shall be done with this," asked one of them of their captain.  
  
"Place it in the King's Chamber at the city, but do not venture to peer into the glass, for these stones are not all accounted for and the King and Steward of Gondor are the only Men able to look into the palantirí without deadly effect," replied Beregond, looking at them intently and with warning.  
  
The two lieutenants departed after their formal dismissal and Beregond took one of the slain soldier's horses, leading his own that bore King Eärnur of the Third Age.   
  
"Onwards to Osgiliath!" called Beregond, and the Host left Minas Ithil, none of them to return there as living man.  
  
***  
  
  
  
The first rays of the sun were creeping over Emyn Arnen, spilling across the green lands of North Ithilien as Arwen and Aragorn approached the fair valley of Aman Estel, borne by Asfaloth.  
  
As they rode onwards through the gap where the clear waters of the river ran from Harma Silma, the sound of singing and Elven music floated through the air to their ears.  
  
"Hlasta!" Arwen breathed at the sound. "Estel, hear my kindred lament for the death of Gloríen, son of Thranduil. Such sadness I have never experienced amongst the Sindarin Elves, though they are a people of deep reflection and sorrow."  
  
However, from behind her she heard no reply and she turn to see that Aragorn's head had fallen onto her shoulder and his eyes were closed, his breath shallow and yielding to the power of the morgul wound. Arwen felt a pang of desperation strike her heart and she urged Asfaloth to carry them to Minas Estel with greater speed.  
  
As she rode through the valley amongst the trees, the morning light filtering softly through the tall mallorn trees, the Elves looked upon the King and Queen and their songs of woe and grief subsided.   
  
In moments, though longer it seemed to the Queen in her grief, they arrived at the walls of the citadel and Arwen turned Asfaloth into the courtyard of Minas Estel where she was met by her handmaidens and the footmen of the palace.   
  
"King Elessar must be taken into the Court of Trees," Arwen said, her breath laboured from her ride. "And bring me there hot water and the carved box of Lord Elrond, if you would."  
  
Arwen let the footmen take Aragorn from where he rested limply behind her, his eyes clouded by the shadows that had penetrated his body. She dismounted and followed the men as they carried Aragorn through the courtyard, "Bandages as well, my ladies," she called behind her as she took her husband's cold hand.  
  
"Caled veleg ethiannen," Arwen lamented to herself as she touched Aragorn's brow. "I reniad lín ne mór nuithannen."  
  
Aragorn stirred for a moment and looked into Arwen's eyes. "Êl eria e môr... tiro, Undómiel."  
  
"Estel," Arwen breathed in relief as he smiled weakly. "Estel!"  
  
  
  
***  
  
Faramir was lying in a chamber of his own in Osgiliath's Healing Houses under the eyes of a wise man when Lady Éowyn of Rohan came to his side, clad in a riding habit of dark green, her fair hair swept back under a mantle of crimson.   
  
"My lady," Faramir whispered as she knelt at his side. "You have surely ridden through the night to be here. Pray, do not kneel, my love, there is a chair in the corner."  
  
"My knees are not weary, my lord," she replied, her pale face flushed from the ride as she brushed stray locks of his fair from his brow. "Do not deny me what I have gone without sleep to reach."  
  
"I will have no complaints for that request," replied Faramir, smiling through the pain of his wound. "Your fair presence speeds my recovery, Éowyn."  
  
"And yours makes me forget my worry, Faramir, dearest," Éowyn replied as she took his hand and held it to her heart as the rays of dawn's first light strayed across Faramir's bed where he lay in peace for the first time since he ventured out from Minas Estel.  
  
***  
  
  
  
And so it was that King Elessar was laid out on the green grass of the Court of Trees, beneath the fine spray of Harma Silma and amongst the golden mallorn leaves of Lórien and the flowers of the elanor, their star shape like that of the Elendilmir that Aragorn wore on his cold brow. It was there that they rested on Cerin Amroth in their own realm, though the Elven enchantment lay about them less powerfully.  
  
Arwen had pulled Aragorn's cloak and shirt from about him and had bathed the wound with hot water and Athelas. Aragorn's eyes had cleared, but he slipped to and from consciousness without warning. Arwen sat by his side preparing ointments and infusions for the wound, but as she touched the skin of his chest and his shoulder with her smooth hands as she applied her medicines, the deathly chill of his flesh stunned her into silent worry.  
  
"Thy body is cold where it should be warm after my treatment," Arwen murmured, the coolness of his skin being of great contrast to the usual warmth of his flesh. "My father taught me well, though maybe I lack the wisdom to apply my knowledge to save my love. Aí, Elbereth!"  
  
Arwen laid down beside Aragorn on the soft grass and Elanor, her body of no weight against the ground, and she took the Man she had bound herself to in her arms, stroking his hair from his brow as she let her tears flow freely down her cheeks, waiting for her medicine to take effect or the shadows to take Aragorn, for she knew a doom most heavy was placed upon him as he had told her at Henneth Annun, though she could not foresee the end of their history together.  
  
"Without thee, I cannot stay inside the Circles of the World," she whispered as she placed gentle kisses on his brow. "Thou did say that thou rejected the darkness utterly, so turn now from the shadow, my love, and come back to the light of the stars. Renounce the twilight and the Halls of Mandros as I did, when we cleaved one to another. Estel, remember the light."  
  
However, it was to be that her words could not reach his mind as his ears were sealed against her by the shadows.  
  
***  
  
  
  
When the Host re-entered Osgiliath in the twilight of the next day, they arrived to the joyous sounds of trumpets as the Heralds welcomed the victors of the Battle of the Shadow Breaking, and the maidens mourned the dead who were brought to the riverside.  
  
Beregond then sent forth the body of Eärnur upon a funeral carriage and it was brought out of the city to Minas Arnor, followed by the Royal Guard who rode along solemnly, their eyes downcast in memory of the tragedies of the Third Age.   
  
The captain of Osgiliath was to follow them, but first he brought the Palantír of Minas Ithil to King Elessar's throne room and placed it there on the low round base that had been placed there by order of the King in his foreknowledge of the Challenge he was to accept. There it sat facing East for the King to keep watch on Mordor if a palantír still existed in Barad-dur, and the Ithil-stone and the Master Osgiliath-stone sat side by side, their cases shrouding the stones from unwelcome eyes. But Beregond did not remove its covering, for he was not tempted to look into the crystal for fear of what other eyes may have been staring into the lost stones.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Arwen had lain with Aragorn beside the Harma Silma and amongst the elanor for nearly a day and twilight drew around them once more as if it were a heavy cloak. And the stars that day were dimmer than they had ever been in the Fourth Age of King Elessar, and Arwen wept with grief as she could feel her husband's body bending to the last will of Sauron. Her medicine had no sway over the shadows inside him, and Arwen knew she could only will her own heart to fight the onslaught of the darkness, and she rested in hope that their bond was enough for her strength to be his.  
  
And it was that there, in the Court of Trees, Eldarion, their son and heir to the throne, came forth from the arms of his nurse who sat with him beside a great mallorn tree. And as Arwen looked upon their son's face and saw in there the strong line of Aragorn's face, she felt warm tears cascade over her cheeks and she took the child in her arms as she sat up beside his father.  
  
"What is the matter, Eldarion?" she asked, taking the child's hands and seeing the look of worry in the eyes of her son.  
  
Eldarion did not speak, only cried at the sight of the father he loved so dearly, unresponsive and shallow-breathed on the ground.   
  
"Shhh," Arwen murmured to calm their child. She took him in her arms and rocked him gently against her breast, singing a calming song of old that her mother, Celebrian, once sang to her in distress. It was the tale of Lúthien and Beren the One-Handed, and how the mortal man had risen from the dead to be granted a lifetime with the one whom he was cleaved to. And as the Queen sang, hope grew in her heart, though the final breath of life left her husband's body, and Eldarion left her arms to come to his father's side.   
  
A bright light seemed to come from the heir's skin as he placed two small hands on the brow of his father, and then, just as Aragorn breathed his last, Arwen flung herself across his chest in grief, for he was dead.  
  
But then, there issued a moan from Elessar's lips and he opened his eyes fully and clearly, as the shadow had left him. And beneath her, Arwen could hear Aragorn's heart still, and then beat again with more strength than she had ever known.  
  
"Arwen?" he whispered.   
  
His wife sat up and placed her hand upon his cheek, and then the other upon his shoulder, and the flesh beneath her hands was warm and responsive. "Aragorn, we thought thou was lost to the world."  
  
Aragorn took her hand and placed a kiss upon her palm, then looking up he saw his son and knew that he indeed had for a moment left the world for the Halls of Mandros, but had been granted his life again by the Eldar, and their presence in his son, who at his father's death had for a minute the power of healing.   
  
Aragorn tried to be stern, but could not help smiling, "Eldarion, surely you should be in bed."  
  
"Sorry, father," the boy replied, his eyes wet with tears. "But I wanted to see you before I went to sleep."  
  
Arwen smiled through her tears and gathered their son in her arms, pressing her lips to the child's cheek. "And so you have, my dearest. It is good luck that you did come visit your father... tiro!" she pointed into the sky. "You have made the stars shine even more brightly than at their creation by Elbereth."  
  
And she spoke truth, for the dark skies had been ridded of their shadowy blanket and a field of stars shone more brightly than diamonds on blue velvet and the moon seemed to wax rather than wane in the glory of Eldarion's healing of his father.  
  
***  
  
  
  
After a week of recuperation and rest at Minas Estel, Aragorn withdrew from the Land of Ithilien in the North and journeyed with Arwen and Eldarion to Osgiliath. Though the wound he had suffered would pain him until he left the world, he cared not for regret and self-pity, and Elessar was glad for his doom had passed and his challenge had been met for the benefit of his people.  
  
At Osgiliath, Aragorn visited his friends in the Healing Houses, his son in his arms and his wife by his side.  
  
"My, if it isn't King Elessar!" Merry cried as the Royal family came into his chamber.   
  
Aragorn gave him a cautionary look. "Merry!"  
  
Merry smiled broadly, "I was only joking with you, Aragorn! My, it is wonderful to see you again."  
  
"And I could say the same," replied the King, coming over to the Hobbit's bed.   
  
"We were sure you were lost when news came from Aman Estel that it had been a day since your illness had struck and you still had not recovered," Merry said solemnly. "It reminded us a bit too much of poor Frodo and Elrond at Rivendell… not that Rivendell is not beautiful, my Lady," Merry said quickly to Arwen.  
  
Arwen smiled in comprehension. "You are well rested, Master Merry. I hope that Master Pippin has not disturbed you too much."  
  
"Actually," Merry laughed, "he has been a real bother, hanging around me like a bee around honey."  
  
"Where is he now?" asked Aragorn, a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. "Making mischief in the barracks, I dare say."  
  
The smile on Merry's face dropped and he shook his head. "No that he has not. He has been with Legolas today as the remaining Elves of his family came the other day and are now preparing the funeral boat for Gloríen."  
  
Aragorn nodded slowly, "I did hear of that on my ride from Minas Estel. We shall attend the funeral this evening before riding to Minas Anor tomorrow for the interment of King Eärnur."  
  
Merry's eyes widened. "Yes, I did hear of that. How queer that he should have lived so long!"  
  
"The powers of Sauron's devices have been great, Merry," Aragorn said, a pain in his eyes as he spoke. "It may still be many ages before his influence wholly leaves Middle-earth. We must be still on our guard."  
  
"Are you saying that what happened at Minas Morgul… I mean, Minas Ithil," Merry corrected himself, remembering that it was not permitted to use its changed name, "may happen again?"  
  
With a deep sigh Aragorn paused to think, then finally he said: "The palantirí show me of events that may or may not come to pass, and though we must take heed of forewarnings, we cannot live in fear of Sauron's residual power. The Ring has been destroyed, yet what effect He still has on controlling what we see in Stones cannot be measured. Caution, my friend, caution is all I can advise, and all that I can rule by."  
  
***  
  
Faramir, the Prince of Ithilien, was reunited with the King that evening at the side of the river Anduin as the songs of the Elves of Mirkwood floated through the still air. The funeral boat of Gloríen, son of Thranduil, was carved most ornately with designs of mallorn leaves and vines.  
  
Upon Gloríen's body lay his shiver of arrows and his father's bow, which had been left to the eldest son of Thranduil on the passing of the King into the West, placed there by Legolas whose face was set in deep sorrow and loss. As the funeral boat was released into the current of the Anduin as it lay shining as silver under the waning moon, the songs of the Elves sang once again their lament for the passing of their brother, and Legolas stood motionless on the bank of the Great River till all others had departed save Arwen and Aragorn who stayed on as the Sun rose above them once more, her beams lightly caressing their faces as the light of Teleperion.  
  
It was early morning and dew hung upon the blades of grass of the Pelennor fields when Arwen took Legolas' hand to lead him back to the city. However, Legolas refused his kindred's hand and turned to the King and Queen, his eyes wide with realisation of his brother's death.  
  
"I must rest alone for a while," Legolas breathed, the sea air that blew in from the coast down stream filling his mind with thoughts of the West. "I shall journey North again to Lórien and then to Lasgalen, my home. Though none of our race dwell there, Lady Arwen, I feel a need to wander amongst trees once more to collect my thoughts."  
  
Arwen placed her hand against Legolas' cheek and looked into his eyes, "That desire thou may indulge, but be wary, my friend, for though thou may be immortal, grief is a sickness that could kill even the most hardy of our people."  
  
Legolas took her hand from his face and placed a kiss upon it and then he took Aragorn's hand in his before looking deep into their eyes. "Then perhaps I may too slip from the confines of this world to meet again my dear brother, as you both will do so in the passing of time. That is your choice, and it may soon be mine."  
  
And so it was that Legolas of Lasgalen left Osgiliath for the last time, riding upon Arod across the River and North to the Golden Woods of Lothlórien, splendid still, even in their twilight.  
  
***  
  
The evening after Legolas' departure, Gimli left Osgiliath to visit his family in the Mountains and to bring tidings to Glóin, his father. He travelled on foot and was given by the Elves a store of lembas of great quantity in case of an emergency, and the Lady Arwen had woven a cloak for him of the warmest fabric of the Elves, for he would be travelling through snowy passes. Then he bid a farewell to his friends and left with a heavy heart, his mind worried by Legolas' fell mood.  
  
After Gimli had set out from the city of Osgiliath, the Hobbits prepared to leave for Minas Anor before embarking on their voyage back to the Shire through the Gap of Rohan. King Elessar bid   
  
farewell there until the next week to Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn who were to ride to Minas Estel and tend to affairs in the Northern Land of Ithilien, and the Hobbits said their goodbyes to their dear friends, inviting the Prince and Princess to stay with them in the Shire if they were ever to journey to the Land of Arnor in the Northern Realm, an invitation which was gladly received by the couple.  
  
Early the next morning as the first rays of the new sun lit the tops of the city's turrets, the Royal Guard set forth for Minas Anor, with King Elessar riding alongside Queen Arwen and Prince Eldarion of Gondor, and at the front of the guard rode Merry and Pippin who had grown to such heights by the replenishing draughts of the Ents that they could ride alone on ponies.  
  
By the afternoon they had reached the White Tower of Minas Anor and there the King and Queen changed into vestments befitting a Gondorian funeral, and clad in black they walked in the funereal procession to the Silent Streets, and upon the King's brow the Elendilmir of the Dúnedain shone brightly in the twilight hours.  
  
In the Houses of the Dead, the sarcophagus of King Eärnur was sealed after Aragorn had placed in the casket crown and sword, the stone lid of the coffin fixed in place by the guard of the city, headed by Pippin, who too was dressed formally, his black tabard embroidered with the White Tree and the Seven Stars shining brightly above it.  
  
Before they left the tomb at the closing of the ceremony, Aragorn stepped forth and knelt beside the stone sarcophagus, and he vowed so that no one else save the Queen could hear that he would keep watch over his Realm and never become complacent, as had the Kings of Gondor in the Third Age.  
  
Then it was that the House of the Dead was closed once all who still lived had left it, and King Eärnur rested next to his forefather Eärnil until the earth was once more reshaped by the powers of the Aulë and the Valar.  
  
***  
  
It was a fortnight later and the new moon was waxing to its fullest when dawn came to take place of the night, and so came also the day that Merry and Pippin were to leave Gondor for the Gap of Rohan. Previsions of food, clothing and pony-fodder were arranged for the Hobbits, and they enjoyed a long, luxurious bath that warmed their bones before they sat down to a hearty banquet in the great banqueting hall of the palace. Once they had fully satisfied their considerable appetite, they gathered together their possessions and entered the Courtyard of the White Tree where Aragorn and Arwen sat beneath the ever-flowering blossoms of that splendid tree, playing with Eldarion who happily chased the petals that floated in the soft breeze.  
  
"So… we will set off now," Merry started, dropping his pack to the ground. "Unless, that is, we are needed to assist you in any way."  
  
"Though we would be both glad for you to linger longer with us in Gondor, we know that your hearts long to see the Shire once more," Aragorn smiled, standing to say farewell.  
  
"That is true," Pippin admitted with a sigh. "It is beautiful here in the South, but everything is on such a grand scale… it makes me feel decidedly small, even for a very tall Hobbit."  
  
Aragorn chuckled. "Then next time we must come visit you, and after we can travel to the Land of Arnor where the city of Annúminas is being rebuilt by Lake Evendim. There the landscape is less 'imposing', you might say, though it is yet beautiful and awe-inspiring, and I often yearn to wander there in the North Lands as I did for so long as a Ranger."  
  
"Well, then, you must come soon!" Merry laughed, "And you shall come as Strider and come with us to the Prancing Pony and smoke the best of the Shire's weed, and it shall be as old times… that is, if the Lady does not object."  
  
"That I do not," Arwen laughed, "for though Elves detest the leaf my husband is so fond of, I would often like to learn more of your people, for Hobbits seem such a valiant and surprising folk for those who have been so little heard of throughout the years."  
  
Pippin smiled and reached out to kiss the Queen's hand, "Well, that is settled then. Just remember to warn us before you come so we can give you the best welcoming party ever thrown in the Shire, for you are very dear to us."  
  
"Dearer still are you to us," Aragorn said seriously. "And if you do at anytime feel your wound to trouble you, Merry, do not hesitate to send word."  
  
Merry nodded, and a tear came to his eye. "We shall miss you," he said at last.   
  
And then Aragorn and Arwen embraced the Hobbits and bid them farewell, as did Eldarion, and then Merry and Pippin picked up their packs and headed through the gates where their ponies awaited them for the journey home.   
  
So it was that Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took departed from Minas Anor, the sun shining upon them as the Land of Gondor glittered in the golden light, and they turned back once more to catch a glimpse of the White Tree where King Elessar and Queen Undómiel stood, their hands raised in a gesture of farewell and their son Eldarion at their feet, and it seemed to the Hobbits that they possessed the ethereal light and dignity of the Elves and the nobility of Men at once, and the sun shone brightly upon them for they were bound in life and death, and their blood was mingled in Eldarion in a final Alliance of Men and Elves east of Valinor.   
  
  
  
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The End  
  
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So it is complete, so now tell me how you enjoyed it! I wanted to create a real 'tale' in the same vein as Tolkien, so tell me if you think I've been successful, or not. Please, all criticism is helpful.  
  
Via ff.net  
  
Or annadelamico@yahoo.co.uk  
  
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Notes on Elvish:  
  
[thanks to the LotR lyrics for translations I've plagiarised]  
  
  
  
Mae govannen i Minas Morgul = Welcome to Minas Morgul (Sindarin)  
  
Arwen, mornie utúlië = Arwen, darkness has come (High-elven/Quenya)  
  
Hlasta! = Listen!  
  
Tiro! = Look!  
  
Caled veleg ethiannen = A great light has extinguisted (Sindarin)   
  
I reniad lín ne mór nuithannen = Your journey has ended in the darkness  
  
Êl eria e môr... tiro, Undómiel = A star rises out of the darkness, look Evenstar  
  
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End file.
